Camaraderie
by Rendered Reversed
Summary: !AU! Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. TMR/HP slash, Word-Prompt Series!
1. Entry I: The Beginning

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling :)

**Note: **Probably shouldn't be writing another story. Oh well; drabbles galore! Shameless self advertisement: please visit my stories Blood Stained and Lettered as well as The Game~

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_**I**t was nothing, really. Nothing at all._ Tom moved through the forest brush smooth and silent, avoiding roots and rocks without even looking where he was stepping. For some ridiculous, outrageous reason, the Wizengamot felt the need to send him out on a "quest" to prove himself that he didn't need a Fighter. They were hoping he would fail. They were _hoping_ that he would find a Fighter along the way.

Tom heavily disagreed—but at his current status now, there was no way he could possibly combat their decree, so here he was, traveling through a forest that he had no idea the size of, or what lurks within, or even what direction he was actually going. The Wizengamot had lacked the foresight to tell him that his routes would take him through places that nullified magic.

His eye twitched when it seemed like no exit or clearing would appear soon. How long had he been walking again?

This was absolutely ridiculous. He bet that old man—_Dumbledore_, with his eyes twinkling at the expense he just _knew_ Tom was going to go through—was laughing right now. Laughing and gulping down lemon drops at five a second. Tom hoped he choked.

A rustle came from his right and instantly, the Magus lifted his palm in that direction and sent a burst of magic towards the sound. Just because this place nullified magic didn't mean he couldn't _use it_, so to speak; just that it was irritatingly difficult to. Tom didn't like blocks, and if he were any lesser of a Magus, the block would've worked.

The burst hit something, causing an inhuman squeak, and from the bush ran out a squirrel, its cheeks greedily stuffed with acorns.

Tom felt his eye twitch again. Damn this forest for all its worth—!

The squirrel stopped its frantic retreat as the acorns popped out of its mouth, turning its head sharply to glare at him accusingly as it raised itself up on its hind legs. _Oh, _so it was _his _fault now?!

"Rodent," he snarled, tired of the color green and tired of not knowing where he was going. "You dare—"

Tom didn't get to finish his sentence, the squirrel having turned to leave in a haughty dismissal. Oh, that was so definitely it!

Not caring about wasting energy using magic through the nullification barrier, the Magus shot several bursts of powerful magic at the squirrel, fully intent on punishing it for its attitude. It was a simple creature, after all! Wild and savage and what not; probably had rabies too. How dare it look at him like he was inferior!

Without turning around, the squirrel dodged all that was sent at him, moving in an odd zigzag that caused all of Tom's attacks to miss with absurd ease. It began to run up the trunk of a tree, but the Magus certainly wasn't having any of that. Another blast of magic almost hit the squirrel, but it dodged again and leapt to the ground, running and ducking under the forest's natural hiding places.

Tom chased after it. He was so fucking _tired,_ and this stupid squirrel was the last straw!

Unlike his first attack, all of the others seemed to miss—most likely evaded as Tom was a very, _very_ good shot—and the squirrel continued to dash further into, or at least was assumed to, the forest. Trees and foliage whirled past the Magus' vision, though he never tripped or stumbled, and it was only until they reached a clearing did Tom make a mistake.

He snarled, throwing a violent burst of magic at the squirrel's general direction, enraged because of the damned block and the fact that he was supposed to never miss his target.

The squirrel was currently at the base of a strange stone. Obviously, it dodged the attack and ran up its shiny, reflective surface. The bolt struck the stone and, taking Tom completely off guard, bounced right off of the weird stone and headed straight towards him. He was too surprised to dodge, and the only thing he could see before completely blacking out was a worried _human_ figure hovering over him and yelling out.

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**Word Count:** 703


	2. Entry II: Individual

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling :)

**Note:** For every chapter after the first, there will be a word prompt down at the bottom. If you've got any ideas on another word, feel free to say so in a review.

* * *

**W**hen Tom awoke, it was to distasteful shades of green that told him he was _still in the blasted forest_. Well, of course he was; hadn't he been knocked out here? Still, the knowledge was enough to make him grumpy, and he blamed it all on that damned squirrel.

He sat up, squeezing his eyes shut and exhaling tiredly. Something wet fell onto his lap, and upon opening his eyes again to see what it was, the Magus discovered a moist, clean rag that had originally rested on his forehead. What…?

More alert, Tom glanced around sharply, taking in his surroundings. It seemed he was still in the same clearing, what with that absurdly large stone in the middle, only his position was different. Instead of being on the fringes, he had been moved to the center, resting near the glittering solid that had caused him to black out in the first place. Beside him was a deep wooden bowl filled with water, and beside _that_ was a large leaf that served as a plate for a variety of strong smelling herbs.

"Oh, you're awake!" came a surprised cry, and Tom twisted immediately to hold his palm up towards the sound, face hardened into that of a warrior. What he saw, however, surprised him. It was a human, _thank Circe another fucking person in this blasted forest, _though his dress was odd. The male wore animal skins mixed in with a leather belt to hold small bags of… whatever was in them, as well as a small blade.

His skin wasn't very tan, but it certainly wasn't pale like Tom's was. Then again, most people weren't as pale as the Magus, so perhaps that wasn't the best comparison. The male's head was a thick mess of black hair, though it looked strangely _right_ on him, and his eyes were an inhuman shade of green. All in all, despite what looked like an overall fragile frame, he was dressed like a warrior and certainly had some muscles to prove it.

Overall, he was somewhat of an interesting individual. Sort of.

"I'd say you shouldn't be moving so much after being hit with that blow, but the Sorcerer's Stone's healing properties should have dealt with most of that, so you're probably fine—other than feeling a bit sore."

Tom inwardly admitted that the man's observation was correct, but he didn't lower his hand. "Who are you?" he hissed.

The man smiled good-naturedly. "I'm Harry," he said proudly. "Nice to meet you—sort of. I'm still somewhat pissed at you attacking me, but no harm no foul, right?"

Contrary to popular belief, Tom was not rude—most of the time. So he introduced himself, forced to after the man, Harry, had complied. "Tom Riddle. What do you mean, attacking you? I remember doing no such thing."

Harry frowned. "Are you sure? That first blow hurt! Not to mention, you chased me all the way here."

The Magus didn't remember that. He would've been able to recall if he chased such a strangely dressed person through the forest—_no._ _It couldn't be_! "You were the squirrel?" Tom asked, raising a brow.

Harry looked smug. "Sure was!"

In hindsight, he should've known the damned animal wasn't just a normal rodent, but damn it, that rat had been annoying! "Why the hell didn't you say anything? I was under the belief that I should kill you, you know."

Harry shrugged. "Well, for one I was a squirrel—and yes, I know you meant that I should've changed back—and for two, you didn't seem to look like you were going to stop just because a small, defenseless critter suddenly transformed into a person. Plus, it would've been harder to dodge like this. I'd be a bigger target."

"Exactly," said the Magus without thinking. He was still annoyed, despite being obviously cared for after his untimely faint.

The strange man huffed. "Well, I don't really know who you are, whether that be cold blooded murderer or kind hearted Samaritan, so could you please not give me such a homicidal impression? And put down your hand! It's not like you can use magic anyways."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "If you have forgotten already, I was using it earlier. What makes you think I couldn't attack you now?" And just to prove his point, he did. Or, well, tried to. No matter how hard he pushed at his inner wells of magic, nothing shot out at the man.

Harry raised his eyebrow speculatively. "Well, I may not be a philosopher or a deep thinker, but that sure looks to me like you can't use your magic."

The Magus sniffed, slightly offended. "I just haven't tried yet," he lied.

"Oh, then please do so. I'd be very interested in meeting the single exception to the Sorcerer's Stone. It was quite angered when you attacked it, you know."

"I was attacking the blasted squirrel!"

"And hit the stone!"

"Not purposely—if you had just stood _still _and let me hit you, I wouldn't exactly be in this situation! I'm a _Magus_; how the hell do you think I can get around without magic?"

Now, like Tom had somewhat expected due to the fact that the man had still cared for him after he had chased him down to kill him, Harry looked guilty. "Well, I couldn't just let you kill me! I didn't understand how you were possibly strong enough to get past the nullification barrier either! But… I guess I do have a small hand in this, even if you _did_ hit the Stone…"

Tom internally smirked. "Yes, well, I'm not exactly a native to these lands. Surely if I get out of this nullification barrier my magic will be useable again…?"

Harry shook his head. "That's not how it works. Normally, if you hadn't have hit the stone, sure you would be just fine if you just waltzed out of here, but you angered the Stone now."

"Which means…?" Tom inquired at the man's solemn tone.

"Your magic has been sealed indefinitely."

_What?!_

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**Word Count:** 1014

**Word Prompt:** Individual


	3. Entry III: Skilled

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** Still taking word requests ;)

* * *

"**D**id you hear anything about the fact that I'm a Magus?" Tom drawled. "I live through magic. I _am_ magic. My magic cannot be sealed."

"The Sorcerer's Stone is said to be a gift from Circe herself," defended Harry. "It sure as hell can do what seems to be impossible!"

Tom decided to go about this by another way. He wouldn't get out of this blasted forest otherwise—and what the man had just said seemed to be proving true… there was some type of block on his magic that he couldn't get rid of, no matter how he tried to manipulate it. He could still feel the internal hum of his magic as it spread through his body, giving him life and sustain, but he couldn't bring it out into a physical manifestation.

It was terrible. He had always been so used to it being at his beck and call, whenever and _wherever_. Tom needed to get rid of this block.

"I'm on a quest," he began, "that the Wizengamot has assigned me. Due to… unfortunate… circumstances, I do not have a Fighter. Tell me, is this forest dangerous? If not, I can at least search for the cure to this seal, can I not?"

Harry seemed putdown and sympathetic to his cause. "Well… there are _things_ in this forest that could pose as a danger… and no one has discovered a constant method to remove the Sorcerer's Stone's seal. It seems like you have to figure it out for yourself; though it has been known to have been removed before. Ah… and you don't have a Fighter? Why would the Wizengamot send you out on such a quest?"

Tom lowered his hand. He smiled, somewhat shyly and most definitely fake, though he assumed Harry would never know. "I am known to be quite the powerful Magus back home," he admitted modestly, "and so the Wizengamot trusts me with my task."

"Hmm…" Harry frowned contemplatively. "Oh! I know! I could help you!"

Tom blinked. That was not what he had expected. "…Assist me?"

"Yeah! I can certainly lead you through the forest, and then whatever after that until your block's removed! It was sort of my fault anyways… so how about it?"

"It will surely be a dangerous journey," Tom began carefully. "Are you quite sure you are up to the task?"

Harry grinned. "I'm not too bad myself. It'll be fine!"

The Magus knew that, though he wasn't completely defenseless without his magic, he would most definitely have a more difficult time without it. Though he had absolutely no idea of Harry's fighting ability, he did know that Harry could dodge, and to an extent had some experience with battles and skirmishes. Hopefully it would be enough until the seal was removed. There was really nothing he had to lose in the offer, after all, so with that in mind, Tom agreed.

"Fair enough."

"I know this forest pretty well. Right now we're in the center of it, actually. It'll be about two day's journey to get out. Where are you heading?"

"To Emeraude Village," replied Tom, "to reach the Oracle's cave."

Harry nodded compliantly. "Hmm… then we'd be crossing over into the Territory."

"From your tone, I assume that is not something to look forward to?"

"It's the part of the forest that's more… aggressive, you could say. It's neutral territory in the center, then peaceful on one half and then violent on the other. Hopefully we won't be having too tough of a time," Harry explained, moving to pick up the herbs that had been lying beside the Magus as said male stood. "I think we'll be fine. Mostly they try to stay away from me when I run my errands—so I'll just pretend that's what I'm doing."

"You have a treaty with them?" Tom fished.

Harry grinned mischeviously. "Nah, but I'm quite skilled with a knife, apparently."

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**Word Count:** 653

**Word Prompt:** Skilled


	4. Entry IV: Third

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** I don't even know what my posting schedule is for this. Just moving as I go, I guess. Haha~

* * *

**I**t was with the third swipe of Harry's small knife did Tom decide that the male could be… quite useful. Several creatures had approached them already, ranging from ogres to mischief-making fairies, all of them quite bent on striking out at the Magus. Harry had dealt with all of them.

The smarter creatures stayed in the shadows, watching carefully though never making a move to attack, and Harry dismissed these without batting an eye in their direction.

Honestly, it was quite an unusual feeling to not be the one fighting, as Tom was accustomed to being, and it was the first time where he had actually stood back and _watched _someone else. Harry's movements were experienced and graceful, quick and speedy as he struck out with not force, but an intimidating intent that had most backing off. The fact that he was able to intimidate while being so small—at least a head shorter than Tom, and that wasn't even mentioning his naturally slim build—was amusing.

Tom noticed that none of the creatures used outright magic. It was either magically enhanced objects, like fairy's special dust or forever-sharp swords, or a physical brawl with fists and kicks. Whereas when he had entered the forest it had been calm, peaceful, and quite solitaire with nothing but the trees and plants as life, here it was teeming with beings that had some form of sentience.

If he still had magic and the time to, Tom would've liked to stay here and observe everything, noting things down and studying the place without much of a care. Regretfully, he was on a quest with his magic sealed, so perhaps he would have to return at a later date to do as he wished.

Harry darted up a bit ahead, confronted with another foe, and whirled around in a dizzying fashion with his quick speed. A couple of well aimed slices sent the ogre off, not liking being at a disadvantage and facing the possibility of defeat. Harry let him go, once again joining Tom as they continued their trek through the Territory.

"If I may inquire," Tom began cautiously, just as he always did, "do you live here as well? In the Territory?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm from the other half. My tribe is one of the lesser, so they usually send a group or single warrior to gather the plants that grow here. Usually I'm off doing my own thing, so they won't mind if I take off for awhile."

"There are many more tribes then?"

"If you know where to look. The forest is big, and natives are not usually found unless they want to be."

"Just like how you can shift into an animal form?" asked Tom, naturally thirsty for more knowledge.

"Sort of. Not everyone can do what I do, but some can and have a single form they can transform into. It's mostly random though; like being a dog won't exactly help you camouflage with the trees. My tribe mostly deals with the elements, so you could say I'm more of an anomaly there."

Tom hummed in contemplation. "I have not heard of people living here in this forest; isn't the performance of magics impossible here?"

Grinning, Harry chuckled. "Well, _you_ certainly proved that wrong. Anyways, people born here aren't really affected by the nullification barrier set up. We're used to it; so magic is possible. However, it is decidedly difficult to use the more complex manifestations of magic, so we usually stick to the small things. We're not too dependent on it, y'know?"

"I suppose so," murmured the Magus, and they fell into silence once more. Harry was useful; if anything, Tom could always seek for the seal's removal _before_ returning to the Wizengamot with his quest completed, meaning Harry would leave and he would come back seeming like he had been perfectly fine.

And Tom usually was—he didn't need a Fighter, a partner like many Magus had. He liked the solitary feeling of working on his own, being able to do things without asking for another's opinion or being forced to share his thoughts. He had always kept to himself, and just because he was a fully fledged Magus now didn't mean that the way things were had to change.

He craved his magic. It swirled inside of him tauntingly, temptingly, and he couldn't call it forth. A Magus was, traditionally, one who calls upon their magic to fight, bringing it forth to the physical world to damage, heal, or support. They were _made_ of magic, and because of this, sought one who could stand by them, a Fighter. Fighters supported a Magus or fought for a Magus, truly human yet bonded with their partner in an inexplicable way.

Usually, in today's age, Fighters were born into their role, having a natural aura of a warrior. There were also traditional families made up of Fighters, having contacts throughout the world to find their child's potential companion. Tom never bothered with them, despite being wanted and offered time and time again the strongest of the strong, as he clung tightly to his independence.

And so, he would prove to the Wizengamot that he was just fine on his own, no matter how young he was. His magic was the strongest the century had ever seen, so why not? A Fighter weaker than him would only drag him down, and he knew the council knew that, despite their insistence.

His eyes flickered over to Harry, who was engaged in a small fight with yet _another_ creature. The whole errand thing wasn't exactly working out, with what his presence being here. His magic might be sealed away, but the creatures here who thrived on avoiding using their own could taste its power, attracting them in hoards.

The warrior leapt back, dodging the swing of an axe, and immediately charged in again. His knife grazed tauntingly at his foe's face, arms, and middle, though that did not deter his opponent any. Seeing this, Harry moved evasively around, simultaneously dodging the arm that struck out at him as well as the back blade of the axe. Then, from behind, he hit key points on the upper and lower body of his foe, walking away confidently as the larger body fell.

Harry turned to him, innocent smile on his face. "We're about half-way out. You okay?"

Tom resisted glaring. Of course he was alright! Just because he couldn't physically use magic didn't mean his senses had dulled any! But he held himself back from saying this. "Just fine," he neutrally replied.

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**Word Count:** 1102

**Word Prompt:** Third


	5. Entry V: Halting

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

"Well, I _did_ say that this would be a two day journey. Want to stop for the night?" Harry asked, for even though the trees covered much of the light of day, it became quite obvious when nightfall occurred.

Tom wasn't feeling particularly tired or bothered by the darkness, but he didn't think it would be wise to mention that to his guide. Rather, it best be to play the part of the average (though significantly more powerful) Magus, just in case. Not to mention, if Harry was getting tired and simply not showing it, it'd be bad to push it and get into another skirmish.

Though Tom could fight without magic, that didn't mean he liked doing it.

Thus, they agreed to halting, and with Harry's well of knowledge of the forest, found a nice place to rest. Tom wondered whether or not they would take up guarding shifts—though did not voice his question—while Harry began to take out some supplies from his pouch to light a fire. Branches were easily gathered; the Territory was full of them, as the fighting easily broke them off of the trees around.

Then, as the fire lit, Harry stood and began to walk around, weaving himself through the foliage in a circle. He continued this several times, and then moved about in a random pattern inside of his pseudo-boundary.

Tom found that the male's expression wasn't particularly informative. "…What are you doing?" he couldn't resist asking in a flat tone.

Harry stopped, looking over at him in a bit of surprise as if he had been caught off guard. "Oh, erm… I told you that I'm quite familiar with this area. If the creatures know I'm here, they won't attack us."

"They have been for the past few hours," Tom pointed out.

"Yeah, well… I'm not exactly a morning person," said Harry sheepishly. "Let's just say they tried to attack me once when I was asleep, and the aftermath was… quite distinct."

"But I'm with you now," the Magus pointed out once again, "and clearly they have no qualms with fighting with you if that means to get to me."

Harry shrugged. "Trust me?"

Tom resisted sneering. Trust? _Right_. Like he would do that. But to keep up with his helpless little façade, he remained silent.

When Harry finally settled, yawning and bidding him goodnight, Tom made a show of also going to sleep, but he did not. The Magus stayed awake, guard up, simply because no matter how naïve Harry seemed, he could not trust him nor his methods. Tom would certainly take advantage of what he could, but he would not grow dependent on them.

Dependency only bred weakness, after all.

About an hour or so after Harry had went to sleep, Tom heard a rustle nearby. He just _knew it_. Of course whatever the male had done wouldn't work; Tom's magic was too strong for the creatures to resist. So, with that in mind, he discreetly turned to look at where the sound had come from.

Indeed, there was another rustle and he was suddenly seeing eyes look out from the bushes. They stared unnervingly at the two, and Tom tensed in preparation to fight.

But it was all for nothing. The creatures stayed there for a bit longer, simply observing, before getting up and leaving. There was no more disturbance for another whole hour, extending even until after that, and only then did Tom relax slightly. How curious.

He took a glance at Harry, who was still curled up on the ground, fast asleep. His breath came out in slow, long sighs, and his body moved only slightly with the inhaling and exhaling of air. So the male could fight; that wasn't too odd. Harry could also fight _well_, and seemed to prefer to not mindlessly kill; once again, not too big of an oddity. But the male was strong enough for the creatures to not dare disturb him in sleep, even though such a tempting appeal of powerful magic sat right by?

_That_ was strange.

Tom happened to like riddles, as ironic as that was considering he didn't exactly _like_ his family name, and Harry was a bit of a puzzle himself. Perhaps he could keep him occupied while he ran through the course of his quest; it certainly would pass some time.

But if not… if Harry wasn't as much as a mystery as Tom assumed he was, that wasn't particularly disappointing either. The man was _useful_, and that was that.

* * *

**Word Count:** 757

**Word Prompt:** Halting


	6. Entry VI: Immune

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** We're getting there-I swear. Slash is a bit long time coming, but there's going to be fluff... at some point. :3

* * *

**T**om had taken to writing in his journal while they trekked through the Territory. He was quite skilled at multi-tasking; keeping his guard up and moving easily through the brush without once glancing up. They also stopped occasionally when a creature or two decided they really, _really_ wanted the Magus, and Harry decided to show them that the Magus was not food.

The journal was being filled with all of the different plants he noticed, especially the rare that were used in complex potions, as well as the different types of creatures and what they used instead of their natural magic.

It was during one certain skirmish that Tom's attention strayed from the bark of a unique tree to a plant down below, one of which he had never seen before nor could identify. Bending down, he studied its features in an attempt to mix and match with his memories, but nothing could quite fit.

Harry, done with his battle, turned around to see the Magus' interest.

"Ah! Don't touch that!" he cried.

Tom turned towards his guide, having had no intention to, but still wondered why. It seemed that Harry knew many of the plants in the forest, occasionally talking about them and the home remedies that they were used for in his tribe when he saw Tom's observation.

"It's what my people call a Feral," explained the warrior who had just finished replacing his knife in his leather belt. He walked over, bending down onto a knee as well beside the Magus. "Highly poisonous. The elders of my tribe take to imbuing its qualities into their weapons and granting them to those who have proven themselves in the warrior's test. When one is afflicted, the area appears to have purple blotches, which spreads with time. There is pain, of course, and an unbearable itch. It causes you to feel very sick as well."

"Do you have such a weapon as well, then?" asked Tom, having gotten used to being curious about the ways of the forest's tribes.

Harry smiled. "I do, but it is more for the emblem than for battle." Then, extending a hand, he reached out and gently brushed the leaf of the Feral, continuing his caress a few more times before gently plucking the leaf. "The poison will not affect those with a soft touch. It's something only the natives of the forest can learn through experience, whether you're from the Territory or the other half."

"You mean being raised here will give immunity?"

"Not immunity," disagreed the native, "otherwise the weapons we craft would be useless. But we learn how to take care of plants, as Circe has definitely blessed them too with life magic, and through that we're able to build a balanced relationship with the forest and the people. The Feral, though we have personally never met, knows I mean it no true harm, so it has no need to poison me. That's all there is."

Tom watched as Harry tucked the leaf into one of his pouches.

"The Feral plant, just as it is very poisonous, can also act as a cure for many sicknesses. It all depends on what you mix it with, and the intent you have."

"I have never seen nor heard of such a plant," admitted the Magus.

"Oh, I'm sure it's out there somewhere," Harry said nonchalantly with a wave of a hand. "Just hiding. Things in this forest tend to grow with a reckless abandon; most think it's because of the Sorcerer's Stone's presence. I don't really know, but the plants here do seem to enjoy it. Maybe outside there is a Feral growing at the very top of a mountain, or the banks of an ancient river."

Tom stood, and so did his guide. "Perhaps," murmured the former, and they turned to continue their journey in a contemplative quiet.

* * *

**Word Count:** 645

**Word Prompt:** Immune


	7. Entry VII: Roundabout

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** Oh, Harry... You schemer, you!

* * *

"**B**y the way, what made you head into this forest anyways if you were headed for Emeraude?" Harry asked curiously.

Tom stiffened slightly before replying. The fact that he had actually gone here was not one of his most prideful moments. "An elder from the Wizengamot pointed out the path through here would be shorter, and after my research that said such was so, I went," he replied simply, shortening much of the actual details.

Harry sensed the truth and the lie. "Did you know the nullification barrier was here?"

"There were notes of it from the research that I read," Tom admitted, "but I doubted it would be much of a problem for me."

"For the most part it wasn't," his guide hastily agreed.

"Indeed."

They continued their way swiftly though prudently, caution provided on both sides. It wouldn't due to be caught off guard.

"…Do you meet with the Wizengamot often?" Harry inquired.

"No, I tend to avoid them."

"But this time you couldn't?"

"One does not ignore the council without suffering punishment."

"Then they really are as powerful as people say?"

The Magus shot his guide a look. "If they were not, then they would not rule."

Harry shrugged sheepishly. "I only know what the forest hears."

"You do not venture out?"

"I… well, I'm certainly not supposed to," he mumbled, "but I do know of other places; and the fringes around the forest can also be considered our domain, including the beginning of the Gap. The elders of my tribe, those who had gone beyond the borders of the forest, told me stories and gave me a map when I was little. I'm probably more informed than other natives on the other half of the forest, but I don't really know all too much."

"The Wizengamot sent me on a quest, and that's all there is to it," Tom said stiffly.

Harry accepted this, but was still curious. "What exactly are you searching for on this quest?"

The Magus did not answer for awhile. "…There are three items of extraordinary power," he began, "And my quest causes me to seek them out to find proof of their existence for this century."

"That's quite a scary task," murmured the warrior.

"Yes, well; it is done every century to ensure that they have not been destroyed, usually done by the strongest Magus and their Fighter, or if there isn't a clear leader, then a group suffices."

"But you're alone!" Harry protested.

"I insisted," Tom replied calmly. "I have no need of a Fighter, and the Wizengamot has already acknowledged me as the strongest of the century."

"That's sort of sad though," murmured the other. "Going through this quest… all alone? What if something happens? Will anyone know? How will they find out?"

"Not one sent on this mission has failed throughout the millennia," declared the Magus. "I shall not be the one who never returns."

Harry stayed silent to that. He could not find a reply, but a thought did pop up in his head. For all that this Magus was strong and independent, calm and standoffish; there was also a healthy dose of personal pride and morals. He wasn't exactly a _hero_, but Tom Riddle certainly wasn't a villain either.

But without his magic, how could he possibly complete his quest? Without the use of his magic, wasn't he back to square one in life? How could he be the strongest when his magic was sealed?

"…You're alright with being alone?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

"Why don't you ever consider… I don't know, having someone else join with you? Surely if you're strong, another person will make you stronger?"

"If they are any less of my power, they will need to be protected. It will, consequently, drag us both down."

Harry nodded in understanding. He had grown up in a tribe, after all. You were either protected or you weren't, even in the peaceful side of the forest. It had taken him years of training to become one of the protectors rather than the protected… but that didn't mean that those who couldn't fight couldn't contribute. Perhaps Tom Riddle was simply… looking at it all differently.

Now with new found determination, Harry secretly plotted.

As the Magus was now, he would never ask for help or admit that he was in need of assistance. Honestly, Harry understood that. The adults of his tribe were the same way, but he knew all it would take would be a bit of convincing.

What Tom had just said would allow him to go about this the roundabout way; Harry just had to be sneaky and, to an extent, a show off.

Tom did not want to know why his guide suddenly had a mischievous smile on his face.

* * *

**Word Count:** 797

**Word Prompt:** Roundabout


	8. Entry VIII: Breathing

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** I love the fact that my only reviews are anonymous even though there have been actually people logging into their accounts to favorite/follow this. Just an amusing note, haha.

* * *

**T**he wind whistled, blowing harshly and hitting the two humans who stood at the fringe of the forest. There were no longer trees and surrounding foliage to block its force, and so they took the brunt of the attack. Before them was now a large gorge, accurately christened the Gap, and far down below one could see the rushing rapids of a ferocious river.

Behind them was the forest. Across the bridge would be the continuation of the path to Emeraude Village.

The bridge didn't look all too stable. In fact, it swayed side to side because of the wind's force, looking quite like a death trap. Rope connecting it to the other side looked old, and so did the boards of wood it was made out of.

If Tom had his magic, he would simply create his own bridge to cross. Obviously he did not have that luxury.

"Is this… safe?" he asked his guide slowly.

Harry grinned. "Not really, but it'll be fine!"

Tom wanted to hit him—_Not really?!_—but alas resisted his urge. "Will it?"

"Don't be so skeptical," waved off the warrior. "The winds will be in our favor today."

The Magus stared at the swaying bridge in disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"They are," Harry said confidently. "An elder from my tribe always said that the elements were kind to me as long as I am kind to them, so the winds won't prove to be an obstacle."

_He was going on something that an old man told him?_ Tom really, really wanted to hit him.

"Well, better get a move on!" declared Harry, and just like that he took the first step onto the pathetic excuse for a bridge.

Tom stared at him skeptically as the warrior spun around, beginning to walk backwards. Said male extended a hand to him, smiling without a care.

"It'll be fine, Tom! A little bit of faith, please?"

He didn't have any faith. Faith died when he was but a child, still clueless in the ways of the world. Faith died when he saw his first death, fought his first unfair battle; had to _run_ from people who wanted to possess his power. Before he had become a fully fledged Magus—yes, faith had died then.

Harry stood still on the bridge, seeming to not even move despite the motions that the wind caused. His hair was being blown this way and that, and how he could even think that the "wind was in his favor" was insane. Stupid. Ridiculous. Absurd.

"It's like the Feral plant," the warrior suddenly said. "There's no reason for the wind to harm you, to dislike you, so it won't."

This was insane. They should just find another path to Emeraude Village—let that stupid old man eating his lemon drops deal with his tardiness. Tom didn't like this, but seeing Harry standing there, completely fine—

He was an idiot. The Magus stepped forward, slowly and cautiously, making his way onto the bridge. Harry continued to smile, hand still outstretched. When he got close enough to touch him, the bridge suddenly rocked violently, and Tom sharply inhaled as he grabbed onto the rope with one hand.

His guide's smile turned soft; _vulnerable_, almost. Easily, Harry took his other hand with a gentle though firm grip.

"Breathe," he whispered.

And Tom did.

"It's just like breathing," continued on Harry as they began to move across. "The wind is your breath; the air is your power. You control it all, to some extent, but you also understand that it is _something else_ as well. It will not harm you not because it can't, but because it doesn't want to. Just like how magic works. You may be entirely unaware of its presence wherever you are, but that doesn't mean it'll take the chance to strike out at you. Can't you see? Feel? The wind is in our favor today."

For some reason, Tom believed him. It was only for a split second, but he felt the wind embrace him instead of push him, felt it wrap around him so comfortably like his very own magic; did not feel its chill but rather is thickness and density. As they continued to cross the narrow, shaky bridge, the Magus did not feel the sway or the rock of the surface he stood on. He did not feel the thinness of the planks of wood.

He did not feel the rope, which was old and coarse and looked like it was going to snap.

They made it across like this, Harry walking backwards with both of his warm hands clasping one of Tom's, a smooth and constant pace despite how terrifying the bottom of the Gap must have looked. The wind did indeed look like it loved Harry now; it no longer looked as if it were messing with his hair but rather caressing it. The way it blew did not look like it was going against him but rather around him.

He looked impervious and at home, just like Tom did with his magic.

When they got across the bridge—_fully_ across—Harry dropped his hand. The wind was still blowing, but not nearly as powerfully as it had been while they were traversing the Gap. Now, the ground was solid and it felt like real earth beneath their feet, bringing about a feeling of dizziness as they tried to find their balance.

Harry smiled, but said nothing; not even of how he had been right all along.

Tom felt like something significant had happened, but could not identify it. Not truly. But then everything was over, and his ponderings were pushed aside to look forward.

They had an oracle to get to.

* * *

**Word Count:** 956

**Word Prompt:** Breathing


	9. Entry IX: Dirt

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** I derped and forgot to post this chapter, lol. Forgive me?

* * *

**T**he Gap's bridge led into a grassy plain, where a small dirt path was all that led to civilization. In the distance, they could see a far away outcropping of large rocks that were the only things that stuck up past the horizon, besides low bushes and the occasional tree.

Tom studied the field, keen eyes taking in the sway of the grass and the rough terrain. The research he had done was not very specific; rather, it had been difficult to obtain any information on this way at all. The elders at the Wizengamot may have pointed him to this direction, but he had been sorely tempted to avoid the whole thing and go the well traveled route.

Obviously, that had not happened; he had thought there was a reason for the elders mentioning the forest. Still, he was not sure on what they expected, and quite miffed with all things in consideration.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Harry seemed right at home here, just like in the forest. The man was relaxed, at ease, even as he was alert. It was quite the oxymoron, but true.

"It's said among my tribe that the area beyond the Gap is where our brethren used to live. There were many tales on two opposing sides, that of the forest and that of the field. We used to live together until an argument took place between the two leaders, and in a fit of rage, the two caused the earth to split between the forest and the plains, creating the Gap. Half of us moved to the former and the other to the latter, where we remained even after the two leaders' deaths. Eventually the tribes made up, thus creating the bridge, but the relations were shaky at best," described Harry, filling in for the silence that had occurred.

"…Was it simply a tall tale?" asked Tom, half interested and half nonchalant about the whole story.

The warrior smiled softly. "Well, whether it's true or not, we _do_ know people used to live here. They abandoned these plains a long time ago though, and the only proof that they had lived here is the feel of their magic now."

"Were they Magi?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Things were different, all those millennia ago. I don't know whether people who possessed magic were called Magi or not; whether they were one with the Fighters or entities themselves."

"How is that possible, to be a Magus and a Fighter? You are either one or the other," shot Tom.

"I don't know," Harry replied again. "The stories that my tribe and the others of the forest tell speak of those who fought with magic and were human. They also spoke of roles similar to that of a Magus and their Fighter, but it seemed both were able to do what the other did."

"Impossible," Tom sneered. "You are either a Magus, human, or creature, and out of those three there can only be hybrids between the humans and creatures or Magi and creatures! It has been proven time and time again that children of a Magus and a human coupling are either one or the other."

"Perhaps the ability to be both was lost then," answered Harry compliantly with a shrug.

The Magus frowned in discontent, but said no more on the subject. They continued to move forward until they reached the beginning of the outcropping of rocks, beginning with small boulders that were littered around and slowly grew bigger the farther they moved.

Harry paused in his movements, diverging off of the path towards one of the stones. Tom waited in curiosity.

"The only thing left…" the warrior murmured. He kneeled down to the ground, scooping up a handful of dirt.

"What is?" queried Tom.

Harry turned back to him, holding up the brown substance. Instead of answering the Magus' question, the warrior said, "Isn't it funny? A Magus is able to manifest their magic however they please, yet the earth on which they are born must use subtle methods of telling its story. Maybe if we listened a bit harder… were more understanding… so many more things could've been known. But now, the earth has degraded to… this."

He blew the dirt softly as a demonstration, allowing it fade into the air not as the ground on which they walked on, but shards of glass that disintegrated.

Tom watched in contemplation. The mood had shifted at some point, some point that he hadn't noticed. The act that the warrior had done wasn't necessarily impressive or an amazing feat of magic, rather mundane all things considered to what _he _could do, but that didn't seem to be what Harry had been aiming for. A story from the earth's own mouth…

The Magus had done some complex magics in his still-continuing youth, a few even including arts like that. But Harry was human, and perhaps that made all the difference.

When they began to travel again, his guide turned back into his energetic, all smiles self, though Tom continued to think on what had happened. If he walked a little more carefully, a little more considerately, a little more inspective, no one could truly say… but he was making plans. Big plans. And they all were to take place _after _he got his magic back.

* * *

**Word Count:** 895

**Word Prompt:** Dirt


	10. Entry X: Crackle

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** Did anyone notice what I did there with the elements? Immune, Breathing, Dirt, Crackle... even I didn't notice until I started writing this chapter! Haha.

* * *

**W**hen Tom and Harry stopped for the night, they were able to gather up enough fuel for their fire to get it going quickly. Harry left a little while later, excusing himself and leaving Tom staring into the center of the flames.

They crackled and spit, but were not as violent as the Magus had always imagined them to be. When he was a child, he saw fire as power. Passion. Whispers of heat and solstice that could eat you up if you couldn't handle it. It was _that_ that attracted him to the element, beautiful in its form and something to be admired in its natural selection of its users.

Fire still attracted him that way, but tonight he was seeing it a little differently. Maybe it was his lack of physical magic—unable to use it, the flames seemed like such a distant power now. He relaxed against the rock behind him, feeling the cold, smooth stone while the warmth of the fire acted as a balm for the chilly night.

Tom wondered why he was seeing the elements so oddly. Was not fire something to be fearfully respected? Was not the wind and air feisty though kind? Was not the earth, an element he treated with mostly apathy, static and defeated just as easily as it could defend? The strongest and weakest element of them all, with no pure display of superiority like fire and no utility like the wind was able to provide— _that_ was supposed to be earth. Or at least, that was how Tom figured them to be from the childhood he never had.

But tonight, he held none of them higher than the other. Tonight, they were all powerful. All strong, all with their own uses and weaknesses, all with things they were unable to triumph over.

The fire waved enchantingly before him, bright to his eyes but still so very dim. He could feel it, but he could not _feel_ it. The Magus could not feel how to generate it, how to cause it to light from his palm, how to call it to himself and _use_ it—not like how he had been able to so easily before the venture into the forest.

Tom held up his hand in front of his face, tracing the creases and veins with his eyes. He was not human, definitely not, but he wasn't exactly a true Magus now, was he? With his magic sealed, what was he? Envy for an identity filled him. He was jealous of Harry, who had a tribe and place that he could call home and could always return to. Harry looked at home anywhere in the wilderness, relaxed and experienced in _being relaxed_ while he was alert.

It was absolutely absurd.

These feelings only lasted for a second. Bitterness was something Tom was used to, but he had always made an effort to not let it consume him like it had once done when he was a child. Bitterness did not give rise to strength—only power did, and power was only halfway there. No, to have strength you needed strength to begin with, the strength to use the power that you possessed.

Tom turned to look up at the sky, something he admittedly had been ignoring for awhile. Lights, in the form of diamonds, glinted teasingly. It had been a long time since he had slept underneath their ever watchful eyes. A very long time.

He wondered how he would finish this quest; where it would lead him. What obstacles would he have to go through? Certainly, he wasn't all too worried—once he got his magic back, it wouldn't be anything more than a minor annoyance—but that did not stop him from wondering. Would the Wizengamot get their way? Would they continue to insist on him getting a Fighter, even after he completed the quest? Would they try to take away his independence?

Tom turned back to the fire. The flames continued to flicker, dancing as light lit the surrounding area more than the stars did. He wouldn't let them if he did— wouldn't let Albus Dumbledore decide how he would live. Fighters were forever, and he didn't _want_ forever.

It never existed in the first place. Forever was simply a figment of imagination, just as fire could not be firmly grabbed. Imagination was power, just like fire.

Tom tensed. A shadow fell over the camp, and he glanced over to see Harry coming back. In his hands were two rabbits, and he placed them down after saying cheerfully "I brought dinner!" and then began to prepare their meal. He wondered how Harry had found them, for he hadn't seen any type of wild life during the day… but perhaps Harry simply knew where to look.

Maybe.

And perhaps it was the light of the fire, casting its glare over the warrior that had sat down beside him, that made him _think_ he saw a smudge of red next to Harry's mouth. He didn't even think to assume it was blood… or anything else, really. Tom didn't think anything of it at all.

* * *

**Word Count:** 857

**Word Prompt:** Crackle


	11. Entry XI: Drink

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** The fact that Tom has no idea that Harry is a Fighter: confirmed. Slash is a ways away, but hopefully more interaction will calm the masses? Haha, not that there _are_ masses reading this series, but you get what I mean.

* * *

**A**s the two travelers took a rest stop in their journey, Tom was the one who took out a container filled with water. He drank greedily, feeling parched from walking under the hot sun for so long. True, the plain's natural breezes certainly helped, but it had done nothing to wet his dry throat.

Harry sat a small distance from him, chewing on one of the herbs he had taken out of one of his pouches. They stayed in relative silence, for the weather did not encourage more chatter than necessary.

Tom frowned at his container. He was almost out of water—something that wasn't all too big of a deal when he could simply _conjure_ it, but now that he couldn't… Not to mention, there didn't seem to be a river or stream in sight; just endless miles of grass, bush, and rock. Originally he had planned to refill it whenever they stumbled upon a water source, but that didn't seem likely anytime soon.

Harry cocked his head to the side. "How does fish sound for dinner tonight?" he asked conversationally.

Fish? Where the _hell_ were they going to get fish in a place like this? Tom raised his brow in question.

"There's some type of water a distance away—we should reach it by nightfall, actually—and it sounds big enough to have some small fish swimming around at the very least."

The Magus blinked "You can… hear it?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, I can smell it right now. I heard it earlier when I went around fetching breakfast this morning, but I didn't really have a direction then because the wind was pretty harsh. Now that it's just a mild breeze, it's easy to tell what direction it's coming from."

"How would you smell water?" asked Tom in disbelief. "And this far away?"

"Dunno," Harry said with a shit eating grin. "Smells good though. Almost like… like… fresh rain drops that haven't touched the ground yet."

"And what does _that_ smell like?" demanded the Magus.

"Like the pure sea," replied Harry after some thought. "No salt, no sediment, no pollution, no plants with it. Just… fresh. Rejuvenating. _Good_."

Tom frowned. "Can all of your tribe smell water?"

"No. Just me. They usually feel it though, being one of the forest's elemental tribes."

"And do you usually follow your nose?" asked Tom as he discreetly sneered.

Harry simply smiled. "I follow all of my senses," he declared proudly. "It's a survival tactic that most tribes teach to their children."

Tom did not reply, filled with a great amount of doubt as he was. Water had a scent? Preposterous! He never heard of any human being able to do such a thing, with the exception of Bestia-type Fighters. Even then, the current distance between them and the water must be quite far, and what a Bestia-type Fighter in human form could sense with their animal adopted senses had a fairly short range. In their beast form was an entirely different matter though.

But Harry, for all his skill, couldn't be a Fighter, right? What kind of Fighter had a squirrel as their beast form? No, it was more likely an Animagus amulet that the warrior had used in forest, and he was probably deluded about the scent of water. There was just no possible way for what Harry had described to be really happening. Perhaps he had developed a sixth survival sense in the forest? Like a gut instinct for water? That was far more likely than being able to actually _smell_ it.

"Fish is fine," Tom finally said.

Harry grinned. "Sounds good."

True to his guide's word, they reached the stream by the time the sky turned orange and the sun began to dip beneath the horizon. It wasn't a big stream in all honesty, but it was large enough for the life that swam in it. With a clear surface, Tom could see the small fish that glided through the shallow waters, moving quickly as if they had some destination to get to.

Perhaps they did.

After a pseudo-camp was set up, and Tom only called it that because it only consisted of a fire pit, Harry leaned over the river and watched the fish tensely. Washed sticks were laid out on the side, as well as a smooth stone slab that they were lucky enough to find to prepare the fish. Tom's job would be killing the tiny critters _after_ Harry caught and tossed them ashore.

Harry raised his arm, hand poised to jab into the water at a moment's notice. The stream was small, like said, and so the warrior didn't need to stand in the middle to catch the fish.

"One, two… three!" shouted Harry, and just as he shouted the last word, his hand sharply cut the water's surface and dipped briefly into its depths. Tom watched in veiled fascination as, almost instantly, a fish was tossed over the man's shoulder, landing right in front of him.

He didn't hesitate to bring down Harry's knife on it, but the Magus still wondered all the while how someone could be so accurate while catching fish the size of your palm.

The process repeated once, twice, thrice more until they had enough fish to fill them for dinner. After prepping and then cooking their meal, both Tom and Harry slept with a not _quite_ full, but not quite empty either, stomach.

* * *

**Word Count: **905

**Word Prompt:** Drink


	12. Entry XII: Feline

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

**W**hen Tom woke, it was to the sun making it just over the horizon and something that sounded suspiciously like a rumbling purr. His eyes snapped open as the sound registered, sitting up quickly and glancing over in the direction of the stream.

Perhaps he had just been hearing things, because there sat just Harry, no creature in sight. He seemed to have just finished washing his face, as it still dripped with the clean water of the stream. In the fire pit, four fish were being cooked, and Tom assumed that Harry had simply woken up early for breakfast.

"Morning," the man said as soon as he saw Tom's upright position. "Breakfast is almost ready."

The Magus inclined his head as a return greeting.

Harry stretched. "I just ate, so feel free to enjoy the fish yourself. There should be some herbs here that could prove useful later on, so I'm probably going to check it out. I'm sure it won't take long."

"Agreeable," Tom murmured. He watched as Harry took off, keen eyes narrowing at the difference in the man's gait. Had it just been him, or had Harry been moving a bit more… gracefully? Cat-like? Something had been _different_, but he couldn't put a finger on _what_.

Tom filled up his container before sitting down to eat, having ignored the task last night. He made sure to take a drink himself as well, also taking care to wash his face and neck. Who knew how hot it would be later on, or when they would encounter another water source. He wanted to take a bath, but he didn't exactly know how long Harry would be gone, nor did the stream look deep enough or big enough to take one comfortably, so he avoided the matter.

When they got to Emeraude, he would be sure that taking a nice, long, hot and enjoyable bath would be first on his list. Magic had made such things easy, but that was a luxury he once again did not have at the moment.

Just as he finished putting the fire out, a rumbling sound behind him caused the Magus to swing around, instantly on guard. He hadn't _felt_ anyone by him, so how the hell was it possible that he was snuck up on?!

Tom turned to be face-to-face with a large _cat._ Or rather, a leopard. It was sitting on a rock a few meters away, looking perfectly relaxed and almost downright _lazy_. Clearly it did not see him as a threat, but that didn't mean that _Tom_ met it with the same attitude. He remained tense, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

What a leopard was doing _here_, of all places, was something that Tom didn't particularly dwell on. Rather, its intention was more important. Surely it had been the source of the rumbling purr he had heard when he had awoken, but that left the question as to if Harry had seen it. Was the beast good at hiding or something, or had it been judged non malicious and simply let to go on its merry way?

The creature leapt off of its perch, moving towards Tom slowly though _still_ calm and relaxed. Its pose didn't look dangerous at all, nor did its eyes reflect any hunger. It continued to approach, and Tom was still tense the closer and closer it got. What _did_ it want?

When the leopard was a feet from him, Tom began to feel annoyed when it simply stopped and sat back down. Its eyes looked at him intelligently, but other than that no action was taken. Hearing his sigh, the leopard, in a fluid motion, sprung back up and _rubbed_ against his leg, purring all the while.

Seriously, _what the hell?!_

It curled about him, head bumping into the back of his knees. Tom stumbled forward, sharply turning his head back to glare at the beast. "What do you want?" he sneered.

Another bump came.

"Stop that," Tom commanded. The leopard paid no heed, continuing to push him forward.

"Will you stop?" the Magus finally groaned, having failed at pushing the creature away. "I don't know what the hell you want—if you're hungry go get your own food!"

The leopard rumbled again, this time imploringly, and its physical urging continued with a faster pace. Tom finally decided to just let it lead him where it wanted him to go—he could always get back to the small encampment later, and he wasn't _defenseless_ just because his magic was sealed.

They seemed to follow the river for a bit, even as it curved to veer off to the left. Eventually they ended up at a pond of some sort, though the water was clear and it didn't seem like any fish were living in it.

The leopard prowled forward, pacing back and forth in front of it for awhile until finally standing at the water's edge and dipping its paw lightly in. When it withdrew, the beast turned its head to stare at him, yawned, and then pounced away.

"What the _hell_," Tom snarled. "Lead me to a lake, and then leave me! I will _never_ understand animals."

But then he looked at the lake, really _looked _at it, and then frowned considerately. He really, _really_ wanted a bath. Tom loved being clean as much as the next person, but he wasn't necessarily a clean freak. The thing was though, they had been walking and walking in the hot-hot sun and the dirt seemed to rise into the air and _sweat_ had dripped down his forehead and—

Harry could wait, Tom decided. He wanted a bath. The mysterious leopard that had brought him here could be pondered upon at a later time—preferably _after_ getting clean.

* * *

**Word Count: **966

**Word Prompt:** Feline


	13. Entry XIII: Anticipation

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** D'aww Tom, trying to comfort Harry now are you? *_* I approve.

* * *

**T**he small dirt path that Harry and Tom had been following had long since begun to slowly widen, becoming larger and well worn. It moved out of the plains and into a large grove of trees, not so close as to form a _forest,_ but certainly a change of scenery. With it, the thought of civilization spurred the two onward, keeping them moving swiftly with the idea of finally arriving at Emeraude Village.

Harry seemed to be on the fence about the idea, or well, _something_ was disturbing him. His relaxed attitude was replaced with one that was mildly jumpy, almost as if he were anticipating something; whatever conversation he attempted seemed like it was forced and definitely lacking the usual care-free air that he constantly generated.

Tom was sort of getting irritated by it. He had gotten used to his companion's manners—how long had they been traveling together now? A week? Two? Maybe more or less by a few days? Nevertheless, the constant presence of the man through day and night, sun and cloud, heat wave or no caused his patience to wear thin now that the status quo was being interrupted.

"What's wrong with you?" he managed to ask in a tone that shouldn't sound quite as offensive as he wanted it to.

Harry whipped his head to face the Magus. "Er—what do you mean?"

Tom narrowed his eyes. "Don't play coy."

The warrior ducked his head and turned away, and Tom could've sworn he saw a light pink dust his cheeks. "It's nothing," he mumbled.

"Clearly…" Tom grumbled sarcastically. "I'd be more inclined to believe you if you weren't acting so strangely."

"…Well…"

"Yes?" urged the Magus impatiently.

"It'll be my first time going into a village," Harry blurted out. He then turned completely away in clear refusal to speak anymore.

Tom was not so easily commanded. "…What?"

After it was clear Tom would not drop the subject, Harry sighed. "It'll… it'll be my first time going into a village," he said slowly.

"What about in the forest?"

"Our tribes are made loosely of the homes of the people, as well as special stations for crafts and work to be done. There is also the head house, which belongs to the tribal leader and their kin. The council of elders lives nearby… it's not really arranged like _your_ villages," explained the warrior. "They're very… close knit? It isn't odd to have people dropping by unannounced, or even having the whole tribe congregate in the center for a celebration. It's more like a settlement of a large family than anything…"

Tom frowned. "What are you worried about? A village is simply bigger. We're just going and going right out _after_ we get some much needed information anyways."

"But don't you want to stay there for a day or two? Before we head to the oracle's?"

The Magus sighed at Harry's insistence. "I don't see your problem. It's not like you can get _lost_… Emeraude may be crowded, but it is _also_ quite small. They say the oracle prefers it the way."

Harry mumbled something under his breath. "Repeat that," Tom commanded.

The man scowled, but complied. "I've been out of the forest before… I've seen people, people of _your_ kind, and Magi with Fighters as well. They all… they look at me oddly," he finished lamely.

Tom raised a brow. "Ignore them. Most are not worthy enough to lick the earth we walk upon."

Harry looked startled. "But—"

"So what if they stare?" Tom continued impatiently. "Most are the blind sheep of the community. They look, and they see only _slightly_ more than nothing at all. They need someone to force feed them answers and opinions, with a large spoon on a silver platter as they're guided to their seats. Their "opinions", and I say that loosely mind you, can only impact because they have numbers—but they are easily changed as well and are no cause for concern, I assure you."

Harry bit his lip.

"Do you understand?" Tom sighed.

"Yes…"

"There is nothing to worry over," said the Magus, lips twisting into a sneer. "You hold more power in the tip of your finger than they have in their entire _body_. If one bothers you, simply make them submit."

They continued walking, both ending the conversation mutually.

As Harry lagged slightly behind, Tom did not hear his whispered, "_but that's what I'm afraid of…_"

* * *

**Word Count: **741

**Word Prompt:** Anticipation


	14. Entry XIV: New

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** For anyone curious on where my word prompts are coming from, I'm using a random word generator. Also! Thank you all very much for your reviews! There may be only a small amount, but your words mean a lot to me :)

* * *

**T**om understood what Harry meant now, with people staring at him with an odd gleam in their eyes. Whispering. Judging. Disapproving. It annoyed the Magus to no end, so much so that he turned his chilly glare on the closest on looker, who quickly got the message and backed off with head bowed in fear and shame.

Harry made a real effort to walk _beside_ Tom rather than slightly behind, but that didn't stop him from sticking closer to usual. The small village was crowded compared to its physical size, and not only were many staring at them but also walking past in close quarters. He evidently didn't like contact.

The Magus, for all his continued nonchalance on the issue of his companion, was _not_ happy with the situation. Perhaps if it was _him_ instead, _him_ that they were looking at so judgmentally, it would have been better, because at the very least he knew that he wouldn't be bothered by it like Harry was—Tom paused in that train of thought. He didn't want to remember he had just thought that.

"Where are we going, Tom?" Harry asked quietly, trying to avoid looking at anyone while he kept his gaze forward, if not slightly lowered.

Tom made a split-second decision. They were originally going to go to the resident inn for a room, but now he had a different plan. Harry was going to stay with him for awhile, was he not? It would be inconvenient if he wasn't prepared for the unexpected on this quest, and Tom decided he also needed a gift to present the oracle, so that was that. Rationally, it all sounded good and worked out just fine.

"This way," was his mere reply.

Harry didn't question his vague answer, but when they arrived, he _did _inquire why they were at the tailor's and what exactly they would be purchasing.

"Clothes, of course," said Tom. Without hesitation, he pushed open the door and headed in. Harry meekly followed after. "There are going to be strange climates and areas that we must pass later on, and though I don't know exactly where this tedious quest will take us, it would be considered ill of me if I were to ignore the fact that your dress won't be considered appropriate if we were, say, atop a mountain while there is a blizzard raging around us."

The warrior was too surprised to even argue, simply watching as Tom told the tailor his instructions. The old lady nodded compliantly, and then got to work with measurements.

"I would also like another cloak," Tom told the woman. "It will be a gift. Velvet white, preferably; the highest quality you have. Ah, yes… for his cloak—"he motioned to Harry, "I have my own clasp for, so no need for that."

"Of course," said the tailor.

While the work was being done, Harry _did_ look uncomfortable, but it wasn't as prominent as it had been when they entered Emeraude. The tailor had not questioned his dress, merely had gone straight to measuring—which was probably a comfort to the man. Speaking of comforts, Tom was sympathetic. Harry did not _need_ fancy clothes, they would only get frazzled on their journey. No, he had asked for the durable outfit style of a Fighter.

Not only would they be light but warm, they would also be something Harry could _move_ in. Never mind the fact that Harry wasn't a Fighter—he could blur the details out. Tom was confident that the change wouldn't affect the warrior _too much_. Surely he could appreciate good attire? Naturally there would be many places to hide weapons, store small useful things, etcetera without feeling clunky and confining.

Yes. Fighter clothes would suit Harry.

And, Tom being Tom, he was right. The top was short-sleeve, but not too tight. The bottom was durable, but not too heavy—slightly baggy but not _too_ much to allow for movement. Hanging on Harry's hip was, instead of his usual leather belt, another one—only black with metal outlining. From there hung his knife and several pouches. For colder weather, a large cloak that would cover his body, parting at a side angle to be easily thrown over a shoulder if need be.

Though it was odd to see his companion in anything _but_ animal skins, Tom was pleased. The new Fighter clothes looked at _home_ on Harry. They looked right. His dark hair and light complexion were emphasized by the dark clothing he wore, and the green tint of the cloak most certainly matched his eyes. But those were the small details—the main point was that Harry looked surprised that he felt comfortable in them too.

"There you are," smiled the tailor. "And here, sir—the other cloak."

The woman handed Tom a wrapped package, and he exchanged it with the necessary galleons for his purchase.

When Harry and Tom exited the shop, there were no more stares. Some glanced their way in surprise, but none were disapproving or judgmental. By his side, the latter felt his companion relax slightly.

"Tom?" asked Harry.

"Mm?"

"This clasp that you gave me… what is it?"

"How do you mean?" asked Tom neutrally.

"It's warm," he replied quietly. "Warm… and there's something about it. Weird. Off. But not… not uncomfortable…"

The Magus glanced to his side where Harry walked beside. His eyes fell upon the clasp that the man was running his thumb over gently, caressing the jade snake that decorated it. A ruby acted as its single eye shown, and Tom could not help the small smirk that twisted upon his lips as he saw the gem. So his companion could feel it?

"It's merely a clasp that has been in my possession for awhile. I had no use for it, and felt no desire to pay for another while I had _that_ in perfect condition with me. Do you not like it?" Technically, Tom had not lied.

Harry quickly looked up from where he had been staring at the silver accessory. "No! No, it's not that…" He smiled softly at the Magus. "I like it. It feels like a small fire, burning and radiating warmth all at once."

And technically, Harry wasn't wrong.

* * *

**Word Count:** 1042

**Word Prompt:** New


	15. Entry XV: Guest

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** Getting closer...

* * *

**H**orace Slughorn moved a lot. And by _a lot_, Tom meant _a lot_. Often it proved difficult to track the man, having had retired from Hogwarts and only popping back up on the map whenever some fancy ball or party proved necessary to attend. And by necessary, Tom also meant necessary for social standing. Through all the years, the Professor still had not changed one bit.

And because of that, Tom was wary on bringing Harry with him—in all honesty the man could probably just stay at the inn as the Magus carried about his business—but another part of him felt that it was of great importance to bring along the warrior. He was apprehensive of this; how could he not be? Such a feeling had no basis, no reasoning behind it. How could he trust this feeling?

But he supposed the hows and whys weren't needed to be understood now. Tom already had decided the moment he took Harry along with him.

"Despite his looks, Slughorn is a tricky man," he murmured aside to his companion.

Harry frowned. "Then how are you going to get information from him?"

"Don't worry about that," Tom said. "I'll be just fine—all of his _tricks_ don't work on me. Be warned though—once we are inside you need not place much weight on any words that are exchanged. I rather we be through with this ordeal quickly and easily, something that any opposition that man gives will hinder."

Harry looked anxious, but solidly nodded anyways. He turned back to look at the house, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise. A shudder taunted to run down his body. Something felt wrong here—suffocating, almost. It wasn't power, or anything that could _really_ endanger him, but it made something inside him snarl in irritation. Even if Tom didn't seem too worried, Harry decided that he would be.

"I'll meet him first. Stay here," Tom murmured, and began to make the trek up the small path to the doorstep.

Three knocks and a small wait was all it took for the man to cautiously answer the door.

"T-Tom, my dear boy!" Horace Slughorn cried out in surprise as he looked at his former student through the small opening between the door and the wall. "It's been so long! Have you come to give this old man a visit?"

The Magus smiled charmingly, noticing how nervous his ex-professor seemed to be. Excellent. The man was scared—as he should be. "Good evening, professor. I agree, it _has_ been long—though sadly I'm not here on a pleasure visit. Surely you have heard of the recent events that had occurred at the Wizengamot? I know that even as you live out here, you're still able to come up with the latest news an hour after it happens…"

Slughorn smiled meekly. "Y-yes… I have heard… Oh, Tom my boy! I knew from the minute I first met you that you'd become something! I never doubted you for a second. Now, being sent on the quest of the century are you? I assume you want some help from this old man?"

Tom kept his expression calm, despite the irritation he felt at playing word games with this man. He had long since grown out of the phase of childish victories, no longer feeling smug pride whenever he trounced such a man as his ex professor. "Well, professor, I must say no. It would be terribly rude of me to ask for any amount of information from you after not having contacted you in so long. You see, I'm going to see the oracle tomorrow, and so, as I knew you were living nearby, wanted your opinion on the gift I am going to present her."

"W-why yes… O-of course! I _am_ getting on in my age, but I'm sure to be able to examine whatever you have. Come right on in, my boy! Tell me, would you like some tea?"

Tom smiled, showing off his white teeth predatorily. "Tea sounds excellent. Oh, forgive me—I seem to have forgotten something. Would you terribly mind if someone joins us? He is to assist me in meeting with the oracle, and I would feel terribly rude if I left him outside here—"

"No problem at all, Tom!" Slughorn said nervously. "Come, bring your friend; Emeraude can get offly chilly during the night time."

"Thank you, professor." Tom turned around, beckoning Harry with a motion identifiable even though he was a distance away.

Hood up, Harry approached. He greeted the old man with a measure of politeness, and when in the living room, sat down beside Tom across from him. Hot tea was served and small chat was exchanged with barely a word from Harry himself.

"Ah, yes; this broach is certainly a piece of work," said Slughorn as he observed the accessory that Tom had handed him. "The oracle will certainly appreciate this; why, any woman would! Wherever did you get this, my boy?"

"I've been to places," replied the Magus vaguely. "…And speaking of places, it just so happens that I heard a curious rumor…"

"Indeed?" queried Slughorn.

"Yes. On my travels, I have heard that the oracle… well… that the oracle has… passed," Tom said slowly. "But the people of this village have discouraged the thought. Considering that I heard the rumor _before_ the Wizengamot had sent me on this quest, I was inclined to hold no worth in it, and still don't. Only, I _do_ wonder… wherever did this rumor spring from? It seems preposterous to me."

"Well, you see, my boy," began the old man, leaning in as if he were telling a great secret. "That is indeed a curious rumor, is it not? I myself have heard it, and did not believe it whatsoever! But you know this old man, Tom, you know him well. I was curious, so _very_ curious, that I ended up going to the site of the oracle herself to check its validity!"

"_You did?_" asked Tom in very convincing awe and disbelief.

"Yes I did," declared Slughorn proudly. "You'll be amazed when you see the place. Such a beautiful cave—guarded by emeralds and gems of all kinds, sticking out from the walls! I even met her—the oracle!"

"Amazing," commented the Magus. "However did you do it alone? I heard tale that seeking an audience with the oracle was nigh impossible if solitare."

"Yes, well…" the old professor began with his chest puffed up in pride. "I was determined, you see. And what determination that was! The oracle was a beautiful woman, sitting upon jewels and crystal as if it were her throne! Long blonde hair and the bluest eyes I've ever seen—an absolute beauty. And it was as if the cave were emphasizing it! A pool of water distanced her and I—wide in its expanse—but I saw her and she spoke very kindly to me—taking time to reassure the rumors false and her continued presence in the oracle's cave would be forever more!"

They exchanged more words after that over tea, and when Harry and Tom both left and bid the old man goodbye, the former didn't exactly understand what they had gotten out of that visit. Slughorn apparently didn't know—having looked relieved after they had left with no "information" whatsoever.

But Tom looked smug. "What do you think we've gotten, Harry?"

Harry paused in thought. "Information about the oracle?"

"Her location," specified the Magus, looking pleased nonetheless. "Everyone knows that she lives in a cave—what is _not_ common knowledge is _where that cave is_."

"But we don't know where it is?"

"We look for the key," explained Tom. "Emeralds. Emeralds guard the gate of the cave. Inside, a lake before we meet the oracle, so we can assume that the cave is quite large."

"But if everyone knows that there are emerald crystals outside the cave, how come they can't find it?"

Tom smirked. "Slughorn gave away some key details about its location while we chatted. Leave the searching to me, if you will? With the research I have and his personal account, I have a _very good idea_ where the cave is. Now, shall we go to the inn? It's getting late, after all."

* * *

**Word Count:** 1390

**Word Prompt:** Guest


	16. Entry XVI: Fraudulent

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention), very loose possible comparison to Loveless (anime/manga)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** Oh no! How is there going to be _any_ slash between Harry and Tom _now?!_ But don't worry guys; I've got a plan :P.

* * *

"**T**here's nothing here," Harry murmured, glancing around the cavern. Jewels, of course; crystals sticking out from the walls were _there_, but nothing else was. No lake, no beautiful throne with a woman perched upon it, no _nothing_.

"It does seem that way, doesn't it?" Tom asked, utterly calm in the face of the dead end.

The warrior frowned. He moved through the cavern, following along the walls and gently caressing the stones there as he passed. "Are we… looking for something?"

"Perhaps there is more to this cave than meets the eye," replied the Magus, "but as to _where_, I cannot be sure."

Harry turned his head to look at his companion inquisitively. Tom was simply standing there, in the middle of the room, face front but head cocked slightly to the side in what the warrior assumed to be a subtle thinking pose. Something more in this cavern…? What—

Harry smiled. A small whisper of wind, so light and airy that he had hardly noticed, came from his left. He moved towards it and, without the slightest bit of hesitation, tugged on a piece of crystal that was sticking out from the wall next to its brethren. Its positioning was slightly odd; _pulling _on it didn't work, but maybe…

Tom moved next to him, looking at Harry instead of the crystal.

He pushed.

The room quivered, small rocks the size of pebbles gently raining down on them. Having been pushed inward, the crystal's surrounding gems shifted as well, or perhaps it was the _wall_, really. Whatever it was, eventually the spot cleared and _more_ jewels began to jut out, from the walls and the floor. It formed an archway, not exactly large but imposing nonetheless.

"A cave within a cave," drawled Tom, eyes glinting with smug satisfaction. "Well done."

The two travelers continued forward, the passage surprisingly bright with an illumination coming from the stones. Everything reflected off of another, creating a sight well worth memorizing. Eventually the path became _another_ cavern, only this particular one filled mostly by water. They had found what they were looking for.

Tom drank it all in; a pond, bordered by jewels that an ordinary man craved, and a small stone pathway that ended in the middle of it. Directly in front of the end of the path, at the edge of the water, was a smooth slab of stone that jutted out to form a primitive seat. It was also surrounded by crystals, all pointing outwards from it and creating a pedestal.

But that wasn't all.

As they continued to walk forward along the path, a woman stepped forward. She took her seat upon her throne, welcoming smile calm and peaceful. Blonde hair cascaded down from her shoulders, skin a pale but beautiful tone, eyes a striking blue. Her dress was fanciful, and all white, making her stand out even _more_ in the colorful cave.

"You seek the oracle?" she asked. Even the sound of her voice was melodious.

"Yes. You are she, my lady?" Tom replied, seemingly unaffected by her beauty. He inclined his head in greeting, but did not bow.

"I am the woman you search for," was the oracle's answer. "Come closer, travelers, and tell me your wishes."

"We're looking for the Deathly Hollows," the Magus said after they had reached the end of the stone pathway. "A quest requested by the Wizengamot. Won't you point us to the beginning?"

Her smile grew nostalgic. "Ah… the Deathly Hollows, you say? Such curious items… My, is it that time already?"

Tom waited for her to continue.

"A cloak, a stone, a stick. How simplistic; impossible to assume to hold immense power in… yet they do. One would think their appearance be fanciful, decorated and exotic. However, one would also be wrong. They may be unique in their own ways, but not all is as it seems. You seek them for a quest? That is what you say. But how can I know that you are not looking for them for your own gain?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the oracle?" asked Harry, speaking up for the first time. "Wouldn't _you_ know?"

"Ah, and that is the question, is it not?" the woman smiled mischievously. "Do I know your intention is true? Or do I not? The nature of an oracle is a fickle thing. Many seek my help, and few truly receive what I tell them. Can it not be that, even if I gave you my hint, you would still fail because you could not decipher my clue?"

"And so it goes without saying that even if I were seeking the Hallows to increase my own power that, in the possible event that I could not figure out your clues correctly, that I would still end up failing and most likely dying a terrible death," Tom interrupted. "Why not take the chance? All I seek, my lady, is the end of my quest and the return to my home."

The oracle paused. "You must go down," she began. "You must go down to begin your quest. From there, all will be revealed. But first, a test of intelligence and the wisdom to _use_ that intelligence. A test of strength, a test of courage and bravery… You are two, but do you both think so? There are no guarantees. Whether you both pass or both fail is the answer. But now, my visitors, I ask you this: what is the question?"

Tom frowned, opening his mouth to ask _something_, but never getting the chance to. Before any sound made it out of his mouth, Harry had moved from his side. He stood protectively in front now, eyes narrowed and stance crouched defensively.

The oracle stared passively at them now. "I only speak what I say," she merely said.

"There is no question," replied Harry. "No _spoken_ question. There is no answer either—other than this: you say nothing because you do not speak."

The woman laughed. "Oh, am I found?"

She was given the chance to say no more as Harry _leapt_ the whole distance between the edges of the pathway to that of the lake. He landed gracefully, swift like a cat's pounce, and ran his blade directly across the oracle. Instead of bleeding, or being forced off of her perch by the power behind the slash, her image vanished.

The cavern rumbled.

Harry whipped around. "Run!" he shouted at Tom, and the Magus wasted no time in dashing towards the only exit, his companion close behind him with his speed.

But it was too late—by the time they reached the end of the stone path the exit was beginning to be blocked by pieces of rock that fell from the cavern's ceiling. Harry, with his quick reflexes, reacted just in time. As Tom was about to be hit by a huge stone, the Magus was pulled backwards roughly, the momentum of his companion running while he pulled him to safety causing the warrior to fly forwards, replacing Tom's position.

Tom could only watch in open shock and horror as Harry was crushed by the falling debris. When the rumbling finally stopped, the exit was blocked and there was no sign of his companion, nor any life.

* * *

**Word Count:** 1209

**Word Prompt:** Fraudulent


	17. Entry XVII: Vague

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** Poor Tom :(. Originally there was supposed to be more happening in this chapter, but his thoughts took a wee bit too long... haha. I don't want to pass my unofficial word limit, so there. Short chapters make for a happy author, because they mean less chance of writer's block! And speaking of writer's block, I'm totally guilty of using this series to get rid of the one that built up on The Game... haha. Don't worry, something's gonna come eventually!

* * *

Tom reached out to the pile of rocks in front of him, fingers outstretched and palm open, as if to _do_ something. Inside of him, his well of magic strained against tight confines, trying to manifest and cause _something_, but nothing ever did. There was just silence and the Magus' own harsh breath.

Gulping for air, Tom scrambled up onto his knees from his fallen position and frantically tried to budge the stone. Despite any efforts on his part, nothing moved. There was no way out—and there was no Harry either.

What was this feeling inside of him? Guilt? Shame? Regret? No word truly fit, not _really_. It seemed nothing could describe his mind right now, or help fix the part of him that _could_. The feeling that swelled up inside of his chest felt disgusting and slimy, persistent like an ink blotch on parchment paper. The more Tom tried to rub it out or clean it away, the worse it got.

He didn't like it, but what could he do?

Admittedly, during the weeks of seeing nothing but his companion, hearing _nothing but _his companion's voice, being in the company of nothing but his companion's positive attitude, Harry had somewhat grown on him. There was _something_ about Harry—and there was that blasted vague word again!—_something _that called to Tom. It caused his instincts to sing, his magic to rise in a frantic flurry, his normally apathetic heart to scramble as it desperately tried to find… whatever it was.

The feeling was actually comparable to the call between a Magus and a Fighter. There was no mistaking _why_ they came to be; it was more than a necessity or a symbiotic relationship. No, there was _magic_ between the two. Between an unbounded Magus and an unbounded Fighter, there would always be a feeling that drew the two together like a moth to a flame, encouraging a bonding.

It didn't matter who it was, or how strong they were. But of course, there were compatibility issues, which caused the whole "prospective Fighters looking for prospective Magi!"… Which Tom resisted in a startling display of iron control.

But Harry wasn't a Fighter, or at least Tom didn't think so, because the feeling was _different_. It was like he was being called, but had an _option_ whether or not to accept. However, simply because it was Harry, the option of _yes_ was… encouraged somehow.

Tom didn't know anymore. He was tired, tired of being startled, tired of no magic, tired of being able to do _nothing_. Everything he had ever had was taken from him, he thought bitterly, _everything_ except his magic, which was basically _himself_. He owned _nothing_, _nothing_ but himself. Nothing in this world except physical useless material items belonged to him, because everything had always been taken away.

He remembered cold nights sleeping under a pathetic excuse for a roof. He remembered watching children that had _something_ while he had nothing and was on the run from people who wanted the last thing that belonged to him. He remembered Dumbledore and his paranoid ways, taking away the _chance_ of him keeping something. Tom thought back on every little single thing. It was no wonder why he was possessive, really.

Someone who could keep nothing would be terribly selfish, wouldn't they?

And he realized—or maybe just accepted, really, because deep down he _knew_ all along—that he had considered Harry… well, _his_. All _his_, for about ten days since the realization part—give or take one or two.

It was a strange concept, but not very surprising. After all, it only made _sense_ that when he had something, something _substantial_… something that didn't have to be as vague as the very word he used, that it would be taken away. Somehow. Someway. Sometime.

Tom's hand fell from the place it rested on a particularly huge stone. Slowly, he stood up, and took a glance around the rest of the cavern. _Of course_ the only exit would be the _only damn place _that collapsed. Of course. Because the world really, really hated Tom.

Only a few moments after did the thought of the quest pop into his head. Would he be the first to fail? Fail, before he even got started?

…And would anything have changed, even if he had accepted a Fighter before the quest and went off with him or her? Because Tom didn't know anymore. He didn't _like_ not knowing, but the fact was that he was currently being the very thing that he disliked very strongly, which made it all the more worse.

A sound of strong impact from his left resounded in the cavern, and the Magus whipped his head towards the noise. The cave shook under the force of it, the wall shuddering with pieces of it flying off. Tom moved into a defensive stance. He wouldn't be taken off guard this time—not while he was still alive.

Another impact caused the wall to crumble, leaving a large hole with rubble at its feet.

It looked like he had found what the cause was, Tom thought grimly. Before him, stepping through the very hole that it made, was a troll three times his size. _Great._

The troll turned its head and, just his luck, it happened to see him. Raising its axe, the creature charged, running through the water with bloodlust in its eyes and a strong stench radiating off of it.

Tom was pretty sure that he was fucked at this point.

* * *

**Word Count:** 922

**Word Prompt:** Vague


	18. Entry XVIII: Overhead

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note: **Happy Birthday, Tom! :)

* * *

**T**he Magus leaped to the side, dodging the swinging ax when it was close. He began to retreat by moving around the ring of the lake, slowly so that the troll would not figure out what he was doing and simply run through the water to block off his escape. Clearly the lake was not deep enough to ward off the creature, so Tom would have to improvise.

He tried to think of how he was going to get out of _this_ one, but he couldn't come up with anything. There was no exit—perhaps he could come through the way the troll had? But who knew what was there… and the only hope he had was finding an exit to the outside from there, otherwise he was as good as dead.

The makeshift plan sounded good enough—not exactly, but really, what else could he _do?_—and so he began to make his way slowly around, dodging the axe and limbs that flew at him while still being careful not to fall into the water. It was a slow process, turning here and ducking there, and Tom was _not_ feeling particularly confident.

Just as he was nearing the hole, the troll charged, impatient because of his evasions. Tom ducked, immediately rolling to the side before scrambling quickly to his feet. He dodged the incoming swipe, but only too late saw the swinging axe. The Magus ducked again, just narrowly evading the axe, then in an effort to get out of the creature's range, swung around to dart safely away—only not.

The rubble that had surrounded the hole caused him to trip up, and he frantically tried to find his balance before the troll could make another go at him. Luckily, Tom did, but only for a second before a sharp pain in his foot caused him to stumble again.

As far as trolls went, they weren't particularly smart, but not as stupid as, say, an ogre was. Unfortunate in this situation, really—because it took the opportunity to smash at the ground. The force of the blow right at his feet sent Tom flying, and it was no surprise when he hit the wall of the cavern back first. He hissed out in pain, feeling his broken ankle as well as the jagged edges of the wall.

There was movement to his left. A flicker of his glance told him it was a white mouse, sitting atop the rubble in front of the _real_ exit. Inconsequential—especially when he was about to die.

For some apparent reason, the troll decided to _throw_ its axe as it charged at him. _Great_. Tom just barely managed to dodge it by rolling his body over, but the pain from hitting the wall and potentially twisting his ankle was a bit much at that point.

Do you know the cliché of citing all your regrets in the very last minute of life? Yeah, well, that was stupid. Tom knew if he had any regrets, they wouldn't matter when he was dead—so he didn't even bother thinking about them. Rather, he was focusing on the fact that his chances for survival were very slim right now. But taking in consideration that his murderer would be a troll, there _might_ be a way out of this.

Trolls weren't known for their intelligence.

So maybe, if the bulky creature decided to—

Standing in front of him, the bloodthirsty beast reached out to grab its prey, only to promptly have his arm cut off.

_What?_

A movement caught his attention overhead, and Tom's eyes flickered upwards in an attempt to find whatever it was and see if it would be a threat to him, because it was _clearly_ a _very large_ threat to the troll. He didn't manage to find anything, but as he looked back at the creature, roaring in rage, pain, and confusion at its dismembered limb, blood splattered haphazardly on the floor, Tom saw another streak move diagonally downwards across its chest.

It clearly wasn't a shallow cut either; blood dripped from the wound as the troll cried in hurt anger. It made to swipe at the thin air with the hand that _wasn't_ cut off, but it caught nothing. Not that Tom expected it to—no, whatever… _whatever_ it was, it clearly was far too fast for the troll to see.

Or Tom, for that matter… which was worrying.

But he need not have finished that thought, for the offender of the troll spoke up quickly enough.

"Looking for me?" a familiar voice said off to the side, and Tom whipped his head in that direction to see—to see—how…?

Whether the troll understood the words that the man spoke was questionable, but nonetheless it recognized its blood dripping off of the rather unique weapon he carried and roared before charging at the figure.

Said man effortlessly dodged. "There's poison in this blade, you know," Harry continued conversationally. "You'll die whether I cut off your head or not."

The troll growled, spinning and charging at him again. Harry didn't even bother to leap to the side when he saw the movement. Rather, his eyes met Tom's, who was trying to stand back up at this point. Then Harry's expression turned nasty.

The warrior turned his attention back to the enraged beast, eyes glaring the daggers that he had yet to physically stab into the creature. He lazily stepped to the side at the last moment, and the troll, pushed by momentum, passed right by him.

"You know what, I might as well finish the job anyways," Harry snarled. "The poison's too _slow_ for my taste."

Immediately as his last words finished, the troll's body jerked, and its large mouth opened in a silent scream. Harry wasted no time; in a move too quick for Tom's normal eyesight to see, he darted behind the troll which was at least two meters away and cut off its head.

It rolled to the floor, where more blood stains had accumulated, as well as where fresh blood was still creating its own puddle.

Tom had never seen anything more powerful than what he saw now. Harry was standing over the troll, blade dripping with its blood as it was still raised in the finishing position from when he had cut off the head. The quick assassination had caused him to associate Harry with something he had never before—_power_.

Harry had _strength_, he knew that, but had he always had _power?_ Now, as Harry stood there, eyes cold and furious, did Tom see the elements personified. He was fire, with his strength and willpower as well as his fiery strike. He was earth, using the power of protection as his offense. He was wind, quick and fickle with its attitude. And he was water, always changing and moving and yet… still water; pure and carefree, giving life as well as being able to take away more directly than any other element.

The split second moment ended quicker than a blink of an eye. Harry was no longer standing over the troll; he was at Tom's side. Worried eyes that were in no way that of an assassin looked over him, asking how he was and if he was alright and whether or not anything was broken. If the troll had done fatal damage.

"I'm fine," Tom managed to say with at least _some_ controlled calm.

Harry frowned. "Liar! Your back must be aching right now, not to mention your ankle! Here, let me—"

As his companion fumbled with one of his pouches, bloody blade left to the side as an inconsequential object of no real importance, affection swelled in Tom's chest. He may not _know_ Harry as well as he could, this event proving it, but he admitted that he had grown… fond. It was hard _not to_, with Harry. The man was as genuinely _nice_ as Tom was powerful, and really that wasn't all too big of a surprise.

Tom was resigned in the matter. Harry defied _everything_—whether that be good or bad in the situation—including Tom's own expectations.

Because the relief of still being alive came _after_ the different type of relief that filled his exhalation of breath.

_Harry was okay._

* * *

**Word Count:** 1382

**Word Prompt:** Overhead


	19. Entry XIX: Drain

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note: **Not my most favorite chapter ever, but that's only because I couldn't tell it from _Harry's_ complete PoV at the risk of spoiling it all too much for you. Next chapter is the REAL oracle! And the chapters are getting longer oh nooooo D:

* * *

**N**ow with Tom's wounds addressed through Harry's makeshift first aid, they moved back towards the platform they had originally stood on in the small pond. It was the only other way—well, _other_ than the hole the troll came from, but that wasn't natural. Perhaps there was something that lead further in, something that would lead them to the _actual _oracle.

Tom had been leaning on Harry as they walked, taking care not to put any pressure on his broken ankle. So when they stopped, he was able to turn his head slightly to address his companion directly. "You were crushed," he murmured. "I saw you. How is it that…?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, when the rocks fell, it seemed that they didn't bunch up all too tightly. I was able to find some loose ones and make my way out," he replied vaguely.

Tom sensed that wasn't all there was to it, but he didn't push. He could always find out later, _after_ they were out of this place. "And the oracle?" he asked.

"I couldn't sense her, no matter how hard I tried, so I knew she wasn't _there_ in the first place," replied the warrior. Seeing the Magus' frown, Harry continued to explain, "All beings have a… type of life force, you could say. It's sort of like the running of blood through veins, or a heartbeat, or the sound of breath, all mixed together. She didn't have that—didn't have any substance. I couldn't, well… I couldn't _feel _her, I guess you could say, and there's no possible way to mask that, so I knew that there was nothing there to begin with."

Tom stared at his companion contemplatively. "You are odd," he finally said, causing Harry to laugh lightly.

"I suppose I am, aren't I?"

They both took a seat down onto the stone, feeling its cool press and taking the time for a quick breather. Tom and Harry both looked around the room, taking in all of the differences the collapse and troll had made. Some parts of the wall were bashed in, the exit was obviously blocked, and there was a gaping hole in the wall a few meters from said entrance. Otherwise, there was simply the lake and the slab that the "oracle" had sat on.

Harry crawled to the water's edge, looking in. It was clear, and he could certainly see the bottom of the pond quite well.

"It's not very deep," said the Magus suddenly. "The troll managed to walk through it without a care."

"Do you think…" Harry began, turning to look at his companion. There was debris in his hair, both from the minor quake and the troll's attack. Dirt was smudged on his cheek, and his clothes were also torn in some areas. But other than his physical appearance, Tom also looked _tired._

"Do you think the water's different?" Harry finally asked.

"It didn't affect that beast over there in any way," calmly replied Tom, inclining his head towards the troll's corpse.

The warrior frowned. There _had _to be something… _more_, right?

Tom moved to sit next to him, also looking into the water's depths. He stared into it for awhile, tracing the mineral patterns of the floor and the surface of the water. It was… still, for the most part. The water was _still_. There was no current, or way for the liquid to move out to another body of water. So…

So…

Tom felt like it was on the very tip of his tongue…

So—!

"How did it get here?" he asked abruptly.

Harry blinked. "Huh?"

"How did the water get here?"

The warrior shrugged. "I dunno, spring underneath I guess?"

"But there's no movement," muttered Tom quickly. "No movement, no life; just crystals. There isn't even any water dripping off of the crystals from above. There's no underwater path _out of here_, and no path _in here_, or at least nothing that hasn't been blocked—"he paused, his mind whirling at the implications.

He shared a look with Harry, both amazed and excited at the same time. No words needed to be said as they suddenly were scrambling to look at every inch of the pond's floor, every niche and cranny for _something_.

Then, Harry found it. _It_ was attached to the side of the pond, right underneath where the woman had sat. The only hint that it was there was an old, rusty chain dangling down between some of the crystals, but it was good enough for some investigation to be due. Harry stopped Tom from following into the water, saying his ankle was broken and it was highly likely that he could slip on the pond's floor.

Thus, the warrior slipped into the water after discarding his cloak, belt, and weapon(s), sucking in a breath of air when he found it to be chilling cold. It rose up very close to his shoulders, so at least he didn't need to swim across. That said he made his way slowly to the chain, moving his arms to part the water before him. Finally he arrived, and then tried to push aside the crystal to get a better look.

Tom was alerted to his companion's dilemma when he yelped. His eyes frantically tried to find what the problem was, and then it was clear. The crystal had parted after Harry had tried to push one particular stone, and _that_ had caused the rest to move over as well. The warrior took in deep breaths as he found his balance again, and then took the time to observe _what_ had exactly been revealed.

It was a large, rectangular door, made of some type of metal, Harry supposed. The rusty chain was actually one of three, the other two tied together about halfway up the middlemost to form some type of support structure. Near the top of the door, which was shorter than Harry himself, were symbols of some sort. Definitely not in English, that was for sure.

"Hey, Tom… there's some writing here," he called out distractedly. "It's not English, either, or any tribal dialect... Wait!" Harry yelled the last word, hearing the movement of the cold water with his keen ears. It wasn't a meager distance that he had had to trod, and he certainly didn't want the Magus doing it while he was injured. Luckily he had stopped Tom before he had put more than a foot in.

"I'll," he paused, not really knowing what to do. "I'll bring it to you," Harry finally said, turning around to look at the Magus.

Tom stared at him with an eyebrow raised. "And you're going to do that _how_?"

"Toss me my belt."

The Magus stared at him doubtfully before doing just that.

Harry fumbled with it above the water carefully, taking just what he needed before hanging it on a protruding crystal above the pond's surface to keep everything else dry. With the thin material he had gotten out, as well as a strip of cloth, he first pressed the latter to the writing, holding it with his palm so it wouldn't float loose.

Then, with a quick motion, he pressed the thin material in turn against the cloth, replacing his hands at either side to watch as the layer on top compressed the bottom to the letters. He waited a half a minute before finally deciding it would be good enough to take out of the water. With it in hand, he moved back to his waiting companion.

"What's this?" asked Tom immediately as he hopped back onto dry stone.

"My people used it like a toy for the children," Harry replied shyly. "They would place a stone with carved patterns beneath the water, and then layer it with cloth and a piece of film that's specially made by the tribe. When lifted out, the pattern on the stone would be copied onto the cloth. It only lasts for a few minutes though. The film also makes a good bandage if dipped in water, so I always keep some with me just in case."

"Hnn," Tom murmured. The culture of the tribe his companion lived in was strange—he had heard enough bits and pieces of it to know that it was certainly _different _than his—and he had always been tempted to drill Harry for more information, but the urge always had to be quelled when they were on the topic… such as now, when the script that the warrior had given him looked very familiar.

"It's runes," Tom suddenly exclaimed. "Old runes—_extremely _old. I've had to use them before for ancient rituals—incredibly complex. Why is it here…?"

"Can you read it?" inquired Harry excitedly.

He gave his companion a look. "Of course I can," Tom said, slightly offended. The rituals and even magics he had performed with them were long and tedious, forcing him to study the scripture far before the attempts. The runes were often considered the language of the first Magi, dating back _that long ago_.

Tom furrowed his brows as he began to read the writing. "_The only way Out is In, and the only She is the one who lies within."_

They both jumped as they heard the movement of something heavy. "It's opening," whispered Harry as he stared at the door.

And it was—but only an inch. Water began to flow, but at the rate that it was going, it would take _forever_ for the pond to clear. In fact, it looked like the door had hardly been moved—_stuck_, supposed the two travelers. Harry and Tom shared a look.

"I doubt it'd be as easy as gently tugging on the chain to open," commented the latter.

Harry was most inclined to agree. The door was thick, and the metal didn't look light in the slightest. He had an idea on how to get it fully open, but…

The warrior bit his lip. "Could you, uh… I know this might sound weird, but…"

"What?"

"Could you turn around?" Harry blurted.

Tom stared at Harry in a way that clearly told him that he wasn't amused.

"Please?"

The silence continued. So did the stare.

"Pleeease?"

"Why?" Tom finally asked.

"It'll get the door open," Harry replied, cutting out all of the details. "…and before you say it, yes I'm sure and no I'm not crazy."

Tom sighed. He was too tired to deal with this. "…Do what you want."

Immediately after he turned around, he heard a tell-tale splash of water—even seeing some splash onto the platform out of the corner of his eye, and then a few seconds later heard the odd sound of something forcefully moving through liquid.

A minute later and he heard a loud whirl, and saw as the water levels dropped drastically. He didn't even wait for Harry to tell him to turn around—deeming it had been long enough of a wait.

What met Tom's stare was a fallen metal door, water rapidly moving through said doorway, and a dripping wet Harry, from head to toe.

If the man had looked more disgruntled, Tom would've thought he was a soaked cat.

_Minus the fur, ears, and tail of course._

* * *

**Word Count:** 1872

**Word Prompt:** Drain


	20. Entry XX: Frustration

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note: **Way too close to 2k words for comfort, but oh well. Okay, so here is some of Harry's back story, since it was fitting and I liked the word for this rather than what you're going to see next chapter, so sorry about lying in **Drain**. You as the readers have now solved the mystery that Tom has yet to even think of, congratulations! ...Going back to **Overhead**, I will now spoil for you that yes, Harry was the mouse, using the form to escape the rubble, and the next form he took was a bat to fly over to the troll. I'm sure you can think of other instances where he became an animal, yes?

* * *

**H**arry sighed, leaning against a tree as he slid to the ground and pouted. He crossed his arms like the child he was, glaring out into the forest foliage. It was _impossible!_ He didn't have a talent, wasn't unique, like his parents! His father must've been mistaken when he said that Harry could transform into an animal.

_Must've_.

Because he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. A few minutes ago he had seen a squirrel, and he tried to transform into that but failed. An hour ago he had seen a rabbit, and also had failed at that. Two hours ago he had visited a neighboring tribe, and one of the adults had even showed him his amulet form (everyone called it an Animagus amulet), which was a beautiful bird that he had never seen before, and he hadn't been able to transform into that either!

He was a failure. Groaning in frustration, Harry scuffed at the ground with his moccasin-clad foot, highly upset. What if he never managed to shift? It certainly seemed like that would be the case. Would his parents be disappointed in him? His father told him that his godfather's (who he had never met) own form was that of a black, ferocious dog, with sharp teeth and a painful bite.

So even if he was able to change into something, what if the animal was so pathetic he couldn't use it to fight at all? Rabbits and squirrels and mice just had no place in the battlefield. Birds could at least fly, and even wild hogs could have their own purpose… Harry had heard from the other adults in their tribe that the beasts could be quite the handful too.

He buried his head in his arms, wishing all of his problems could just disappear. Disappointing his parents was one of his worst fears, but he also thought that being able to have a talent like _becoming an animal_ was… well, amazing! But in the end, he knew he was plain old ordinary Harry. Nothing special about him. He might as well get himself one of those Animagus amulets instead of trying to transform without one.

Maybe that particular talent just wasn't his. His parents were wrong about it; that was all.

A purr brought his attention to his right, and he gasped as he saw a beautiful cougar stalk its way through the brush towards him. _"My, my, what do we have here?"_ it delightfully rumbled.

"I—I—"Harry stuttered. It was true, he _was_ close to the Territory, but technically he was still in the peaceful side of the forest! There shouldn't be… he should be safe! "I'm Harry," he finally said, shy and definitely nervous.

_"You are troubled, child,"_ it purred as it inched closer to him.

It also looked more amused than hungry, so Harry decided he was safe enough from becoming dinner. "S—sort of," he admitted. "Um… have you lived in the forest for long?"

It let loose some type of growl that the boy could easily compare to a chuckle. _"Yes… I suppose you could say so."_

"Then… then maybe you could help me? Please," Harry added on quickly, not wanting to forget the manners that his parents had taught him.

_"You smell nice,"_ it replied, _"So perhaps I shall, but one cannot assist if one knows not of the problem."_

Harry bit his lip, slowly rearranging the cougar's words so that he could understand them. "Uh… well…" He began to tell his tale, admitting to the creature his problems and his fears, all the frustration he had experienced ever since his first failure at transforming. It listened unblinkingly, even going so far as to lie down right in front of him, paying full attention.

_"Child,"_ it purred as Harry finished, _"I do not have much knowledge of your kind, but what I do know is this: you cannot be what you do not know. It appears to me that you face a worse dilemma than not knowing what you can shift to. Instead of searching for the right creature, perhaps you should find out what _you_ are first?"_

"Huh?" said Harry, completely confused. He was only four, after all.

_"Take for example myself. I am the epitome of all felines in this forest. I know I am strong, powerful, and that I can catch my prey quite easily thank you very much. I have a tail that keeps my balance when doing such acts as this—"_ it leapt up onto a nearby tree, climbing it perfectly and then moving along a branch until leaping down and returning to its place, "—_and always land on my feet. My nose can tell me that you were sitting by a berry bush just shy a few times ago, and my ears can hear clearly the beating of your heart. Your kind calls me a cougar—but regardless of any names I have, I am myself and I know what I can do."_

"…But I'm not a cougar," commented little Harry.

It growled again, a hissy sort of laughter that soothed at the same time as set him on edge. _"Of course you aren't. But you _can_ be, if you knew what you were first."_

"I'm… I'm a human," Harry said. "I have eyes, a nose, ears, a mouth, and hair. My Mum says I'm short for my age, but that I'll grow to be tall like my Dad. I… I have two feet—"

_"But what can you do?"_ the cougar asked. _"Are you merely what you are? What are you capable of, child?"_

Harry frowned, thinking for a moment. "Well… the elders of my tribe say that I'm the best of my age at throwing. And I always catch the most fish whenever I race with the other kids. I can walk, and I can run, and I can climb trees too—but not like you can. And… and my Dad says that I can change into an animal—"

_"Do you believe you can?"_

"M—maybe," he murmured. "I'm not all too confident about it, actually. I can't make the water move differently, or make the wind blow, or make stones fly like the rest of my tribe… and I can't understand what the trees are saying yet, but I'm learning to. But… but… I can talk to birds, as well as the other animals in the forest! Sometimes they don't want to talk to me, but I can still do it! And I know how to swim, even if I can't move the water!"

_"All excellent things to know,"_ the cougar purred patiently.

"And I know how to start a fire, too!" Harry exclaimed. "Mum was really proud when I did it two days ago, and Dad pat me on the back and said I was growing up! Oh! I know how to make my Mum happy, too. She likes lily flowers, because that's her name. Dad showed me where the only place they grow is, so I always go get a bunch for her on her birthday."

_"Respecting your parents is definitely very good knowledge to have,"_ it said to him. _"You have a well of information, even if you sometimes doubt yourself. Now, knowing all of this, can you leave these traits for another's?"_

"W—what do you mean?" he asked curiously. "Do you mean to… to… just become someone _else?_ I don't really like that idea… I think I like being me the best, because my parents always said that they're happy that I'm their son."

The cougar's eyes smiled at him knowingly. _"Yes. Respect for the self is also important, however knowing your surroundings and others is also another survival tactic. If you know your enemies as well as you know yourself, won't the situation turn out for the better for you? And if you know your friends as well as you know yourself, wouldn't that also be nice? You are not the only person in the world, but if you could be more than one, wouldn't that be for the best? It is one less person to consider a threat."_

Harry frowned again, understanding the gist of what the cougar was saying though not quite liking it. The elders of the tribe made sure to teach all the children that not everything would be friendly. Rather, there would be many enemies in the world, direct foe or not, so they would always be on guard. Protect your friends and families from those who are a danger to them. That was one of the greatest missions in life.

"I understand."

_"Of course you do,"_ rumbled the cougar satisfactorily. _"So why not try to be me? I am stealthy, but powerful all the same. My prey can be heard or spotted from a great distance, and traveling is but a few quick pounces away, whether that be on the ground or up above. I have strength on my own, though certainly I have the intelligence to know my limits. When to flee, when to fight, and when to fake a retreat only to strike out again at the least suspecting moment… yes, why don't you try to be_ me_, child? It will serve you well."_

Harry looked thoughtfully at the cougar. "You…" he murmured. He thought about all of the things that the cougar had said… and more. The curve of the cougar's back, along with the muscular legs that let it move gracefully through the foliage, as well as its ears and nose and cat-like eyes. He thought about its tail, and its paws, as well as the claws on said paws. Harry also thought about how powerful he would feel, how light on his feet, how sly and wild he would feel. The cougar belonged here, in the wilderness, in the forest, in the environment that had none of society's nuisances.

He sat there and thought as the creature let him continue his inspection. Harry wondered how it would feel, walking on all fours and even climbing trees like that. Walking on branches. Leaping from brush to brush without the slightest noise.

And soon… he was.

_"Come with me, Harry,"_ the cougar purred sensually. _"Come, and enjoy the forest as it is."_

The rest of the day was spent with his new friend, moving through the forest foliage without the slightest sound, walking and running and hiding at a quick speed he had never experienced before. Everything rushed by, and when he was hungry he even hunted with the cougar, experiencing the sound of another's loud heartbeat and the feeling of his powerful jaws as he ate.

It was amazing.

_"You have done well, child,"_ said the cougar as they were taking a break. _"You have learned well. Be proud of yourself, and come visit again, won't you?"_

"How will I find you?" asked Harry, reverting back to his human form without a thought.

The cougar smiled, already two meters away. _"You will."_

When he got home, he shared the news with his parents, who were absolutely ecstatic. He showed them his cougar form, having a bit of trouble at first but still managing. A few days after that, he hatched an idea. His father had never spoken anything about anyone having more than three forms, but perhaps they simply had not figured out how to be something else.

His child-like mind did not consider power limits, or physical limitations at all.

From ally tribe to ally tribe he went, first only asking about those who had cat-like amulets to expanding his scope. From panthers to jaguars to lions to leopards, and even extending past that to birds and wolves and even the more exotic, such as fish and lizards and elephants, he became them all.

But the cougar who had been his mentor stayed first and foremost in his heart, his most comfortable skin to be.

* * *

**Word Count:** 1988

**Word Prompt:** Frustration


	21. Entry XXI: Advice

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** Oh Luna... How can anyone _ever_ understand your advice? xD.

* * *

**T**om made it down the stairs well enough—with Harry's assistance—and eventually the two reached another room. However, instead of an actual cavern, it was more like an air pocket. The only land _other _than that that they stood on was far across the room, and even then it was only a small ledge. The rest? Water.

"Hello," said someone across the lake. Harry squinted to see the shape of the person hidden in the shadows, and was even more surprised when said figure stepped out into the light.

It was a woman—or, well, _girl_, Tom supposed. She was sixteen maximum, with blonde flowing hair that was tied in the back as a ponytail as well as familiar blue eyes. In fact, she looked like a carbon copy of the illusion they had seen earlier, only younger of course.

"Are you two looking for the oracle of the cave?" she asked politely, but a dazed smile on her face made Tom doubt that she was even paying attention.

Instead of replying to the girl, the Magus glanced at his companion first. The only sign that the warrior had seen was a slight nod of the head, so Tom decided that the teen across the lake was real.

"We are," he replied cautiously.

The girl giggled. "Well, look no further I suppose. Not that you can—well, _one_ of you can, maybe, but that wouldn't be wise. Though, all that's left down there are the nargles, who do surprisingly well in deep water. Who knew?"

"Who are you?" blurted out Harry.

She blinked. "Why, I'm Luna Lovegood of course! Who did you expect, the king of the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks?"

Harry and Tom shared a look. "…No?" said the former tentatively.

Luna laughed. "Good, because he's much too important to be here with little old _me._ Your journey might interest him though."

Tom was getting impatient. He decided to cut straight to the chase, too tired of oddities and thinking about them. "How are _you_ the oracle?" he barked, "She's supposed to be a grown woman. How can we trust you, when there was an illusion just above?"

"Why, that's not my problem is it?" replied Luna, not sounding offended at all. She spoke in a very matter-of-fact way, actually, but the calm smile on her face was slightly unnerving regardless. "I'm the oracle, so I know that _you're_ who you say, but you're _not_ an oracle, so you can't be sure who I am. That's just how it is, you know. Now, if you _were_ an oracle, you wouldn't have even come here to see me, so I suppose you're stuck, aren't you?"

Harry sighed. "So let's say you're the oracle—"

"Hypothetically," reminded Luna.

"Hypothetically," assured Harry. "Hypothetically, if you're the oracle, what would you say to us? After all, as the oracle you know the quest that Tom's on, and where to start him off, right? So you wouldn't even have to ask why we're here."

"Right!" praised Luna with a big smile. "But the news I must bear to you isn't very good, so I must still ask if you _want _to hear it."

"Of course we would," scowled Tom. "Why else would we be here?"

"To hear good news, of course," she said, "that's what most people come for. But not everyone gets what they want; sad but true…"

Harry coughed to get her back on the right track.

"Well," began Luna, "Hypothetically speaking, since I'm still hypothetically the oracle, I'd tell you that your quest is far more dangerous than the previous century's. The future is quite blurry, you know… and I'm afraid it can get quite bad. Now, since all questionable oracles are supposed to do this, I must also ask once again if you want to hear this, because it can easily turn quite nasty."

"Yes, yes, get on with it!" snapped Tom.

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I was hoping you'd say that. Not, mind you, the fact that I knew for certain—since we're only assuming I'm the oracle—"

"The danger?" pointedly asked Harry.

Luna grew quiet before speaking again. "There are hunters," she whispered. "They seek to stop you. _Both_ of you, but they have yet to know that part. You will be thrown to violent obstacles, and there are some that are… questionable in outcome. It all depends, you know, on the actions you take beforehand."

"Stop us, or take the Deathly Hollows for themselves?" inquired Tom.

"Both," replied Luna. "They wish to obtain the ultimate power—and they can, depending on _your_ actions specifically, Tom. Continue on as you are, forever static with a tight hold to your ideals, and they will win. But… if you change—"

"I can't do anything unless I get my magic back," snapped the Magus. "Whether my mindset changes or not means _nothing_ if I cannot fight against those so called _hunters_."

"Oh, yes… on the subject of your magic—please excuse me, the wrackspurts are being quite playful—"

"How will he get it back? The Sorcerer's Stone is quite thorough," interrupted Harry before she could get off topic.

Luna, for all of her dreamy expressions, took on a certain type of focus that the warrior could not identify. Her lips twitched, as if confused between a frown or a grin, and she finally decided on the former. "Well," she began hesitantly, "that depends on the both of you… and the paths you decide to take."

"Explain," demanded Tom.

"But first, are you sure you—"

"_Yes!_"

"Alright then. At the most general level, getting your magic back is easy. All you have to do is bond with a Fighter. However, if you simply do so with just _anyone_, then your fate appears grim. I cannot say _who_ you should bind with, only that he will be your ideal—"

"So a male," the Magus interrupted, wanting to get all the clues he could.

"Yes. But remember, if it is simply _anyone_ that you find in your convenience, there is a high chance that it is not the right one. If you manage to form a bond with the right Fighter, then your chances for survival—and also completing the quest successfully—are marginally higher."

"Not significantly?" asked Harry.

Luna smiled sadly. "No. I'm afraid not. The bond is only a small part—important, yes, but small in the grand scheme of things."

"And?" Tom asked. "After I get my magic back? After I bond with the _right person_? What after?"

"Then your fate lies in your hands," she said simply. "That… and… well…"

A significant look was given to Harry, and the warrior was suddenly filled with a feeling of dread. "Um?" he murmured tentatively.

"You too take part," she whispered. "Much must be revealed, and I'm sorry for that. I might not be the cause or able to do anything, but do know that I _am_ sorry for the life that you must abandon. You hold your friend's key to survival, but he also holds yours. Whether you die or live is in the sole hands of yours combined, and no other's. If the right path is chosen, then the aftermath is sure. Many will—or could—seek you, some to claim and some to challenge. However, you know your strength better than anyone else, never forget that. If you believe you are weak then you are, and if you believe you are strong then that is all you can be."

Tom furrowed his eyebrows as he saw his companion's expression, one of anxiety and indecision.

"Everything?" Harry asked nervously.

"Everything," she agreed. "But if your trials pass, and all is done as it was said, then happiness awaits you _and_ Mr. Riddle. Do not forget _that_, either. You will assist him in his search, and he will in turn help _you_."

"And if things _don't_ turn out that way?" Tom asked. "If one misstep is made, will it all go to hell?"

Luna cocked her head to the side, deep in thought. Her expression, however, gave away nothing. "I don't know," she answered in her usual daze. "The future is the future—I cannot predict everything. But I don't think you'll be alone, either. We'll certainly be seeing each other again. Anyways, it's time for you two to leave. Take the troll's route, will you? Nothing should harm you there."

Both Harry and Tom were surprised at the abrupt dismissal. "Ah, but—" the former tried to say, but Luna waved it away.

"The nargles are getting impatient. I've been quite distracted since your arrival, and they're always vying for my attention. We'll talk later, though, so off you must go!"

The travelers turned to leave, but were stopped by Luna's sudden call. "Remember, Sleeping Beauty was awoken with a kiss, Snow White was saved by her prince, and Cinderella danced hand and hand with love's true gift! However, in your story, once the princess is saved, she will turn into a prince, and both must fight the dragon and thorns once more to possess the Fairest One of Them All."

Once outside, both Tom and Harry shared another look of utter exhaustion and disbelief.

"Animals and oracles," Tom muttered. "I don't understand any of them. Let's hope not to meet the latter again."

Harry shrugged. "She might've been a bit… strange, but I think she was nice enough."

The warrior received a deadpan look for all of his troubles. "I'm sick of caves," was all Tom said.

Harry simply hoped that Luna was wrong about something. He had _bad feelings_ coming from his gut instinct, and that was never good.

* * *

**Word Count:** 1610

**Word Prompt:** Advice


	22. Entry XXII: Angry

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** Dunno what's happening derp. Guess I'll just go with my dreams... As for when Tom will figure it out, when they will bond, when the slash will happen... I can't say how many drabbles for sure, but I do have a pretty good idea of when it'll happen. This series isn't ANYWHERE near done, so there. By the way, should I take out the drabble tag? I mean, these are getting a bit too long to be considered real drabbles... lol.

* * *

**I**t was only when, as Harry was out hunting and Tom sat looking into the flames that danced before him, the whole exhaustion of the day's events were over did the Magus finally realize something _very, very_ important. And he cursed repeatedly in anger at the oracle when he figured it out.

The girl hadn't even bothered to tell him where the first Hollow was! Where the hell was he going to go _now?!_

But no matter how much he cursed her in his mind, no matter how tightly he clenched his hands, it didn't change the fact that he had completely forgotten. She had been spouting off nonsense, for Circe's sake! What princess was there, in a fairy tale that didn't even exist? What blasphemy it was, to force him to bond with another just to get his magic back! Him, a _Magus_! How cruel it was, to be told that his fate leads to terrible death if he did not find one sole man, who simply would give him a _better chance_ at survival!

He had survived for so long, ran from death and worse for so many years, it felt unbelievable that this was actually happening. But it was—and the bitter part of Tom knew that he would just have to deal with it. He had suffered through the early years of his life, so now, when he was stronger and wiser, why would he crack under the pressure?

Tom lifted his head as heard a rumbling purr from the brush. A rustle sounded, and then a form slowly slinked out from the greenery. The Magus didn't know whether to be surprised, annoyed, or on guard—probably all three would be prudent—but it _was_ sort of getting tiring when these strange animals kept popping out of nowhere. Not that it happened _too_ often, rather, it was suspicious how it happened often enough to be noted but sparsely enough to not be considered ridiculous.

Who would have thought that he would ever think such a thing? Now _that_ was absurd.

The cougar that had come from the crowd of trees was holding a rabbit in its mouth. Once it was in full view, it sat down and looked at him expectantly. As if expecting him to say something. To take note of something. To _do_ something.

But whatever it was that the damned cat was expecting, Tom didn't know. Nothing in particular came to mind—in fact, he was still filled with bitter rage and a sort of resigned sorrow that he couldn't quite explain. After several moments of waiting, he almost thought the cougar _sighed_—regardless of whether animals were able to do that at all, not yet taking in consideration it had a _rabbit_ in its mouth—as it got up, walked towards the fire pit, set down its dead cargo beside it, and then slinked over to Tom.

He really didn't get it. He really, _really_ didn't understand what this wild cat wanted him; it wasn't like he was an animal person or anything!

At the very back of his mind, Tom felt a small _itch_, or a nudge of some kind. There was a feeling, deep inside, that seemed to try and dig itself up to the surface, but it just couldn't break free. Why? Why couldn't he put a name to this—this little annoyance that simply wouldn't calm?

The cougar curled up at his feet, tail lazily swaying. It was hard to ignore, not only because it was _huge_, but because it had some sort of a _pout_ as its expression. Honestly, the Magus couldn't describe animal expressions very well. He was probably just imagining things—but that was how it _really_ looked!

At some point he began to stroke its back, petting it and scratching behind its ears even. The cat reacted favorably to this, purring contently and nudging him whenever he stopped.

Tom scowled. "Alright, you great beast!" he muttered, and whether or not he took the advantage to bury his fingers in its fur, seeking some type of consolidation for what life had thrown at him, who could really say?

No one would see—no one would know his expression. The bitter acceptance was scrawled across the Magus' face for once, clear to the world, but only the cougar would ever know.

It nudged him again, and Tom didn't say anything when the position slightly shifted so he had an arm-full of cat. If life decided to throw animals at him in compensation, he decided he would eventually write a very, very irritated letter to it after all was said and done—followed by a very nasty ritual. The deal was terribly unfair, but that didn't mean he wouldn't take advantage of it.

He wondered what Harry would think when he came back, but the cougar and the warrior were to never meet, as the former left after awhile. Harry came back perhaps fifteen minutes after, upset look on his face as he came back empty handed.

"Couldn't find anything," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "No stream, no rabbits, no birds out, it seems."

Tom shrugged, wordlessly pointing to the rabbit that the cougar had left. "That's fine, I managed to find something anyways."

Harry took in the rabbit, glanced at Tom, and turned back to the rabbit again. Then, he too shrugged and sat down to begin the preparations. They would get back to Emeraude tomorrow, see a healer, grab some supplies, and be on their way—wherever that was to.

Tom never noticed the frown that slowly made its way onto Harry's face. He was too lost in his own thoughts to even observe his companion.

* * *

**Word Count:** 954

**Word Prompt:** Angry


	23. Entry XXIII: Tersely

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** Miss me?

* * *

**O**n their return to Emeraude, Harry was pleasantly surprised to find the Healer's home still open. He greeted them kindly, waving them in, and when the warrior felt that spark of magic in the air, he knew the man was a Magus.

Tom knew too, only he didn't make all too big of a deal of it. Humans could use magic; just not _complex_ magic. Healing was definitely under that label, and it wasn't odd to find a Magus-Fighter pair working as Healers or what not. Battle wasn't the only option in life that they had. But it _did_ disturb him when he noticed the Healer's Fighter staring curiously at Harry...

_Too late to do something about it, though._ Tom was quickly ushered towards a bed so the Healer could tend to his wounds. Harry's herbs hadn't treated _everything_.

"So," the Fighter began, once her Magus had left to tend to Tom, "Must've been a pretty awesome fight to get you two roughed up like that."

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess," he murmured, not all too interested in conversation.

She smiled. "How long have you been bound to your Magus? You two seem close."

"Ah," jolted Harry, "I'm not—not his—"

The Fighter laughed. "Oh, you're not? Then who's your Magus? He must be terribly worried for you, out and about at this time of night."

"Erm…" the warrior gulped. "No, no… he's okay with it."

"Hmm… are you _sure_?"

Harry bristled at the hidden insult. "I know my Magus quite well, _thanks_," he snapped.

"I meant no offense," she said, hands raised in the universal sign for surrender. "It's just that… I find it odd to see a Fighter not attached to the hip with his Magus, and I speak from experience. Isn't it… painful? To be apart?"

Harry turned away. "I don't have a Magus," he muttered quietly.

"…_oh…_" the Fighter immediately recoiled, sympathetically patting his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… Neville says I can get pretty nosy, so—I mean—…"

"It's okay."

"…You'll find one, one day," she told him. "And it'll be the best feeling in the world. You'll treasure them, and they'll treasure you. It'll be fantastic! Just… keep looking. _Don't give up hope_."

Harry licked his suddenly dry lips. He didn't reply, simply turning to look at the room Tom had entered.

"I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger," introduced the Fighter, and she stuck her hand out in both an apology and a greeting.

He took it. "Harry," he answered in kind.

"…So, after my terrible rudeness," she began, a shaky laughter emitted from her lips as she sheepishly rubbed the back of her head, "I feel bad for asking… but for the life of me, I'm far too curious for my own good! If you don't mind me asking, who is… who is… the Magus that came in with you then?"

"I'm helping him," Harry told her. "He's… he's looking for his destined Fighter, I guess."

"Oh. Uh… hasn't he… hasn't he ever… you—?"

He understood her fragmented question, and turned his attention to her. Hermione's cheeks were a bright red, probably embarrassed for even trying to ask.

"I… I'm probably not the one he's looking for," he murmured. "He's very powerful, and even though I'm not a weakling myself, I don't think I could ever match up to him."

"But power isn't everything," she whispered.

"No, it's not, but… he doesn't really believe that. I… I want to show him that, just in the case that his destined Fighter _is_ weaker than him. He's…" here, Harry gave a nervous laugh, "He's not your average Magus."

Hermione's eyes glinted. "And I suppose that it's quite endearing to you, isn't it?" she asked casually.

Without thinking, Harry answered, "Yeah—"

She grinned as he quickly averted his eyes. "I think you're plenty strong," she whispered to him conspiratorially. "I can _feel_ it. Your Magus I'm not too sure about; I'm not the strongest Fighter myself to sense that, but… I wasn't lying when I said you two seemed close. Even when injured, he looks _very_ protective of you—"

Her sentence was cut off by Harry's blush. "It's not like that, I don't think. We've been traveling together for awhile, and that's probably all it is. Not to mention, it's not like I don't have my own fair share of problems that's in the way of _any_ bonding. I mean, my family—"

"Won't they be happy for you? Binding with a Magus is probably one of the best things that can happen to a Fighter!"

Harry shrugged. "Where I come from, bindings are rare. We have Magi and Fighters, of course; it's not like we're lacking in numbers. It's just that… my people believe that bindings are sacred, and should only occur if the Magus and Fighter have a certain type of synergy. It all depends on the mind set; sometimes you can have synergy with a person instantly, and other times you'll only feel it after one of the two have grown a couple years. We believe that such a binding will be blessed by magic, so all of the Fighters and Magi restrain themselves until they find 'that one'. It's why… it's why I understand what he's going to be looking for."

"That's amazing," Hermione murmured. "A certain type of synergy between the two that transcends the normal pull? Where do you come from—?"

"Harry," said a sharp voice. The two turned their heads sharply to the doorway, where Tom Riddle stood, hand resting on the wall, eyes cold and hard as they glared at Hermione. "We're going."

All of a sudden, Neville came up from behind. "Please, I _told_ you that your back still needs at least a day's rest!"

Tom turned his head so he would be facing the Healer. "You _also_ said I would be fine walking. I don't have any intentions to pick any fights either, so I _believe_ that I'll be perfectly fine _leaving_."

Hermione, gaining confidence now that the Magus' glare wasn't directed at her, began to interrupt his departure. "But you can never be sure! If you stay the night, we'll be glad to give you lodging for free. Letting a patient leave when they're not fully recovered—"she gasped sharply as Tom's glare increased tenfold as it rested upon her smaller form.

"_No thank you_," he said tersely.

Before either of the two could wrestle up the courage to speak again, Harry decided to end the whole ordeal before anyone got hurt. "It's okay, Hermione," he said with a small smile. "I'll make sure nothing will happen."

She bit her lip, but one look at Harry's reassuring features made her back off.

Tom inwardly snarled.

"Oh, and thank you for healing my friend," Harry said, this time directed at Neville.

Neville returned his small smile with one of his own. "Not a problem," he assured, "It's all part of my job."

With goodbyes said, and a promise to Hermione that he'd stop by and visit again eventually, Harry dragged Tom out of the small house and out into the night.

"This way," the Magus grumbled as he took the lead.

Harry cocked his head to the side. "But isn't that in the way of the inn?"

"Yes. And?"

The warrior frowned. "We could've just stayed at—"

"I assure you, Harry, I have plenty of galleons to spare for a night," cut in Tom.

"But—"

"It's _fine_. You honestly didn't expect to travel at this time of day, did you?"

"Of course not!" cried Harry. "Especially when you're still—"

"So then, what's your problem? We're going to spend the night on a warm, comfortable bed, buy supplies in the morning, leave, and hopefully by then I'll be as fine as a fiddle. You seem to be putting up quite the argument; is it possible that you've gotten attached to _someone_ here?"

Harry stayed silent. Tom could've taken this multiple ways, but he _had_ been traveling with the man for awhile now. He knew the different types of silences very well, as Harry usually was _not_ quiet.

There was the "there might be danger around the corner" silence, the "one second, I think I've heard lunch" silence, the "hmm… let me think that over" silence, the obvious, embarrassed, "I don't know what to say" silence—which also doubled as the "you're right" silence—and then there was this one.

The disappointed, exasperated, "you're acting like a child" "what the hell is wrong with you" "I'm not even going to bother to say anything to that" silence. And it usually came with a frown and a _look_ that made Tom grimace in shame.

Instead of looking at Harry, because he already knew what he'd find, Tom decided to change the subject none-too-subtly. "What were you talking about with that Fighter?"

Harry shook his head, sighing. "Nothing, really. She was just wondering why I was with you if I wasn't your Fighter."

"Hnn."

They wordlessly arrived at the inn, taking a room without paying attention to what they were asking for. Harry vaguely remembered Tom calling for a light dinner, but his voice sounded distanced as well, most likely lost in thoughts too.

* * *

**Word Count:** 1543

**Word Prompt:** Tersely


	24. Entry XXIV: Taste

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note:** I thought I would need a shorter chapter if I really wanted to call this a drabble series. HERE YOU GO. Obligatory feeding scene :)

* * *

"…**W**hy is there only one bed…?" Harry sighed, slouched in surrender, and just walked over to grab the topmost blanket as he settled down in a nest on the floor.

Tom sent him an indiscernible look, but it seemed that they both would concede being too tired to argue, or _speak_ in general. They settled into a calm peace, each to their own, for an hour getting ready for bed. The dinner came up quickly enough, though the maid raised a brow at them when she saw Harry on the floor, and they both contented themselves with the thought of it being the end of the day.

"Are you not going to eat?" Tom asked, staring at his companion when Harry made no move to take a bite.

Harry shrugged. "I'm not hungry," he muttered.

"You haven't eaten in awhile," prodded the Magus. "I highly doubt that you can't eat _something_. It'll be a good while until we can eat food like this again."

"It's fine."

"It's not," said Tom, just as casual and slightly mocking as Harry's previous words. "Eat."

Harry turned away, a light blush dusting his cheeks. He mumbled something under his breath, but it was too quick and too low for Tom to catch.

"What?"

A clearing of the throat, and then, "I said I'll hunt early in the morning or something."

"That's ridiculous," Tom deadpanned. "We'll be able to eat breakfast here too. Take advantage of it, won't you? It's not like it's overly expensive."

"Err…"

The Magus raised a brow.

"I don't… uh… it's not—not—…"

Tom waited.

"That type of food—"Harry waved over at Tom's plate, embarrassment coloring his tone,"—isn't really part of my diet…"

Tom highly doubted that Harry meant 'diet' as in the diet that many upper class women went on to maintain their physique. "Oh?"

"I'm used to hunting and gathering what I eat," said the warrior sheepishly. "It's just more accustomed to my tastes, really. And it'd be a waste if I had some when it wouldn't fill me as well as a fish or something could."

Tom cocked his head to the side. Then, he wordlessly beckoned his companion, who curiously got up and came over, taking a seat on the second chair.

Harry blinked. He really didn't understand what Tom wanted; it wasn't like he was going to eat or anything. Wasn't it awkward when someone ate while the other didn't at a meal…?

"Wh—"

Before Harry could finish his question, a cut of the Magus' meat was put into his mouth. Tom let go readily enough, but he gave his companion such a look that it was understood that Harry _would_ swallow.

"How is it?" asked Tom casually, as if he hadn't just forced food down his companion's throat.

Harry was quiet. He slowly chewed, swallowed, and gripped the fork in his hand tightly. "…It's good," he admitted. "What is it?"

"Deer," Tom said smugly, "brought in just this morning. Cooked medium-rare." He motioned to a separate plate on their small table, which indeed had a delicious piece of meat lying on it.

Harry felt oddly touched.

"Now eat," commanded the Magus, and he easily took his fork back from Harry's now-loosened grip, going back to his much more fancier meal as if nothing had ever happened.

* * *

**Word Count:** 555

**Word Prompt:** Taste


	25. Entry XXV: Restless

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

**H**arry awoke to the sound of rustling bedding, his keen ears picking up the slightest sound and awakening him. There was something else, too, that disturbed his rest—an ugly scent that tickled his nose, tasting almost like dried tears and sweat. There was no hint of _actual_ tears, of course; it was just that—that _smell_!

It was the smell of distress.

The warrior took a peek at the bed, where he saw Tom, eyes squeezed shut, thrashing about as if he were having a nightmare. It was a restless sleep, a sleep that would bring no good, Harry knew. He had never seen the Magus have a nightmare or anything close to it—usually Tom was a very calm, light sleeper—so the scene gave him a little shock before he managed to catch up with his brain.

Slowly, he rose from his nest upon the ground and moved over to the side of the bed. He hesitated upon trying touch to wake him. A restless night would still be a restless night if woken up, and that wasn't good at all. Tom _needed_ sleep, and sleep would not come easily nor lightly if Harry were to wake him from whatever horrid dream he was having.

No. Harry simply needed the dream to disappear, or at least turn for the better.

Then, with great care, the warrior sat down upon the mattress and lightly tugged the blanket so that it was no longer twisted with Tom's legs, all the while humming the medley of the forest he grew up in. It was the calming sound of the water, the light and airy chirps of the birds, the rustling of the leaves, the beautiful serenity of it all that he needed right now. Tom would sleep, preferably without hurting himself somehow.

Cautiously he shifted to his cougar form, the added weight sinking in the bed. He crept slowly towards Tom's body, being very careful not to wake the man. Upon feeling the warmth, the Magus seemed hesitant whether or not to crawl closer or shy away, his face still scrunched up and the stench of distress still clinging to him. Harry decided he didn't want _that_ either.

Tom's smell was naturally quite clean, a great difference from the sweet smell of a female or gentleman, but that had never bothered Harry before. He preferred it this way—it almost was like a clean ocean with the wind bringing in waves and waves of powerful magic, fresh and turbulent all at the same time. Tom's scent was so _different_ from his personality that it always had kept Harry on his toes, never knowing what to expect.

So the smell of distress, of anxiety, of nervousness, of something almost like _fear_ definitely did not belong on Tom.

A rumble made its way out from Harry's chest, a comforting purr of beast and guardian. It did its job excellently, as the Magus relaxed and settled his movements, allowing the cougar to come closer and eventually act as some sort of pillow. Harry new very well how nice it felt to have warm fur beneath him, an animal curled about to help him sleep. His friends in the forest had done it often while he was little, protecting him from all of his fears for the beauty of the night.

Tom would sleep well.

A while later, Harry found himself wondering what would become of them. What would become of this quest. The oracle—Luna?—had been so insistent about her warnings, so _confident_ that they would come to pass, and yet… What they were implying was ridiculous.

He was here to help Tom. Help the Magus, because of the incident in the woods that had been partly his fault. And Harry then wondered if that had not happened, if the Sorcerer's Stone had not activated, would the story still be the same? Would the oracle still see the same things? Would he, his tribe's only Bestia-type Fighter, still find this Magus and travel with him?

Would there have been a chance then, for him, to finally find one he could call his own?

His instincts never lied. Tom, as he was now, was not his destined.

The oracle spoke of change. Harry wondered if that change would affect that. He wondered how Tom would react to his being a Fighter. He wondered about a lot of things.

And then it seemed like _he_ was the one having had the restless night, instead of the man right beside him. Harry's thoughts kept him awake, for he could not for the life of him give them up. Would Tom hate him? Would he accept him? Would the changes be good or bad from there? Would this blasted quest ever be completed, or were they fated for a horrible ending?

Would he die young, as the tribe elder had told him?

But wasn't this the crux of the matter—this concept of change? How much indeed did it change things! Like a chain reaction, like a river's flow when meeting boulders or dams, how one slight breeze could change the world! His mother had told him once before, that this _change_ was necessary, and though he understood now, Harry could not help but think of a world _without_ change.

Without change, his mother would never have died. His father would never have died. They would've been able to live as a family, with the godfather he had never met, with the affectionate warmth of another parental figure he had never met, with the grandfather he had never met nor known, perhaps even with his own Magus! He would never have been forced to understand separation, or the fact that he was an outsider within his own tribe.

He was different, but not hated or loved. They were indifferent to his presence—as long as he was useful, that would be fine. The elders might hold some affection for him, but without the link of his parents—

What life would he have led, without change?

Harry rose from his position beside Tom, moving to pull the blankets over the man with his teeth. Once that was done, he gracefully leapt to the floor, slinking back to his nest and curling before returning to his human form. The warmth of his own blankets were gone—long taken away by the natural cold of the night.

_A restless night's sleep was a bad sleep_.

But he couldn't help himself anyways, for without change, nothing could be stopped.

* * *

**Word Count:** 1089

**Word Prompt:** Restless


	26. Entry XXVI: Hint

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note: **Hope you don't mind the dialogue; wanted to try something new and was feeling the mood for more chat than details.

* * *

"**S**o," began Harry as they took off again after a small break, "where are we going?"

Tom turned to look at him with a deadpan expression. "We've been traveling for three days, and you didn't bother asking until now?"

"Well, I didn't say anything earlier because you didn't seem like you were the type to get lost. And after Emeraude, I'm sort of clueless on… well, everywhere else."

If Tom were any lesser of an aristocratic man than he was, he would've facepalmed.

"You _do_ know where we're going, right?"

"…Once again, you decide to ask that _now_?"

When Tom didn't get any reply other than a shrug, he sighed. "Since the visit to the oracle was, in relation to the quest, useless, I've decided we're going to Half Moon Mountain next."

"Huh," hummed Harry, "can I ask why?"

The Magus didn't bat an eyelash as he continued his explanation. "It has a nullification barrier around it; most magically powerful items use this as protection over their domain, as you've seen with your own Sorcerer's Stone. Half Moon Mountain is also known to have some… curious… links to the other world at magically active times, which is why it's very possible that the Resurrection Stone is hidden there."

"And if it's not?"

"We move on," replied Tom simply.

Harry shrugged again. "Okay. How far is the journey?"

"A week more, at the least. It _is_ a mountain, so we'll have to ascend—and it _will_ get cold, so be sure to keep your cloak on when we get there."

"Can you tell me anything about the terrain?"

"Rocky, obviously. Steep at many points. There's a makeshift road, but it's mostly left unused and, therefore, more of an ancient path than anything. I'd tell you more about the vegetation if I could, but there is much unknown about the mountain itself."

"That's highly inconvenient," muttered Harry.

"Is it really?"

"Well, on one hand you have the fact that we'd be pretty hard to find, especially without magic. On the other hand, if someone's waiting there—"

"—a perfect snipe point," softly answered Tom. "I'm assuming the oracle's got you worried?"

"Yes," admitted Harry. "I don't like the fact that it's a mountain, either."

"What can go wrong, will go wrong at that altitude," agreed the Magus, "but I rather it over somewhere far out at sea, say on an island or something."

"Still…" murmured the warrior.

"There are also many rumors about an enormous Roc that lives at the top of the mountain," Tom continued.

"…Are we assuming that it's guarding something?" asked Harry tentatively.

"We are," confirmed the Magus.

"And that something will be the oh-so magically powerful object that's generating the barrier?"

"Yes."

"And are you even the slightest bit worried about the part that you have no magic at your disposal?"

"What part of nullification barrier did you _not _get? I wouldn't have been able to use my magic anyways."

"That didn't give you any problems in the Forest, did it now?" shot back Harry.

Tom's lips twitched. "Point," he muttered, but then in a louder voice continued, "Can you not take on a Roc?"

"Well," playfully mused Harry, "It _does_ have the home advantage. Not to mention, the motivation to protect something—"

"Is this a ploy to coerce me into saying something?" asked the Magus with a slanted look out of the corner of his eye.

"Not at all," cheerfully denied Harry. "I've always wanted to see a Roc! The only reason I know of them is because of vague stories my tribe occasionally tells of them—rulers of the sky and what not. I'm sure it'll be a terrifyingly pleasurable experience!"

"Sometimes I wonder whether you're insane or absurdly overconfident," Tom said without missing a beat.

"Why, because I let you drag me everywhere?"

"It's not dragging if I can _feel _the eagerness radiating off of you," the Magus replied dryly.

"Don't be a killjoy," waved off Harry. "Worst case scenario, the Roc will be too ridiculously overprotective over whatever it's hypothetically guarding, say this Resurrection Stone, and it will have no mind to listen to reason—don't look at me like that!—so we'll have to end up killing it or something."

"Don't you mean if it's female?" Tom asked, his tone dripping with boredom.

"…Normally I'd make some comment about how any woman of my tribe could punish you thrice over for that comment, but I'm actually seeing some truth in your statement," admitted the warrior.

"Yes, that tends to happen when you're traveling with me."

"I'm sure other people absolutely adore you when that happens."

"Well I wouldn't know—care to tell me about your personal experiences?"

"But wouldn't that ruin it!" dramatically cried Harry. "How would it be personal anymore if the whole world knows it?!"

"Are you implying that _I'm_ your whole world?" inquired a wickedly amused Tom.

"Whoever said anything about _my_ world?" retorted Harry. "Now that's just egotistical, Tom. I'm not _that_ arrogant."

"So are you then implying that _other people_ think I'm their whole world?"

"I'm sure the world is very, very angry at you for thinking that one sole person owns its entirety."

"Then who would the arrogant person be now? I'm sure the world appreciates having one sole person decide its every feeling," mocked the Magus.

"…Is this a roundabout way for warning me that I probably shouldn't disregard the Roc as a serious threat?" asked Harry with playfully narrowed eyes. "Why Tom, I didn't know you cared so much!"

"Are _you _trying to find ways to imply that I have an unhealthy amount of emotional attachment to you?" Tom shot back.

"I don't know, do you?"

"I don't think I'm trying to imply anything at all."

"Of course you're not—because you're _seriously_ implying something that I would very like to know of—"

"Or is this really a ploy to make you over-guess yourself and bring down that ridiculous amount of self confidence you have?"

"There's nothing wrong with that!" defended Harry. Then, abruptly he changed the subject. "Why's the mountain called Half Moon?"

Tom raised a brow at the choppy end to their mock argument. "There are multiple tall tales that include the mountain and an association with the moon. No one knows which is the truth, or at least the origin and first."

Harry frowned. "…Is that an ominous hint that we're going to have to wait for a full moon or something before some secret passage opens leading to the Stone?"

The Magus snorted. "Now you're just being paranoid. Of course not—nullification barriers raise the environmental magic, which means the full energy of a full moon would never be needed."

"But what about if it was a specially crafted passage adjusted to said energy?"

"_That_ would require a team of elite Magi to do," replied Tom patiently, "And the nullification barrier would need to have already been set up before they even got started, which means the task would be near impossible. Ancient magics are far too complex for even _I_ to use them in the range of a block."

"…I'll take your word for it, but if there _is_ some secret passage with a requirement of one of the stages of the moon to be present in the night sky, I'm going to reserve the right to say 'I told you so'."

Tom sighed. "Whatever pleases you."

* * *

**Word Count:** 1240

**Word Prompt:** Hint


	27. Entry XXVII: Act

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, ~1k word count drabbles, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note: **Hi, here's some semi-fluffy stuff notreallybutshhhh, enjoy because I know I do and am eagerly awaiting moreeeeeeee. Yeah. OH! Before I forget, should I change Camaraderie's rating to M soon? Because, like, doesn't that also go over implied sex? Maybe? Don't squeal-but it'll be heavily implied at some point... so, opinions?

* * *

**T**om thought it was odd when Harry turned… chatty. Well, he was always bright and happy and in the mood for conversation, but this was _different_. Harry was acting completely… completely… dense? Oblivious? _Something_ was different, and Tom didn't like it one bit. It actually disturbed him, seeing his companion act so strangely.

"Look, look Tom! What's that?!"

Tom sighed, turning to look at _whatever_ Harry was pointing at now. When he saw what it was, he bit back a growl and instead turned to grimace at his companion. Seriously, what was wrong with him today? "That's a chipmunk, Harry," he deadpanned.

"And that?"

"A rock."

"How about that?!"

"…I hope you're not pointing to that leaf."

"Of course not! I meant the thing next to it!"

"…I hope you're not pointing to that branch."

"No, no! To the left."

"That's a ro—it's a snail shell. Are you done yet?"

"But _Tom_! That can't be a snail shell. It doesn't have a snail in it."

Tom didn't even answer this time. He was too tired—_exhausted_, in fact, and he didn't even know why he had begun to humor Harry in the first place. Had someone stolen away his companion in the middle of the night and replaced him with a complete moron? That seemed like the most likely answer. Had he passed something or touched something that had been secretly spelled to confound a person?

He sighed and began to walk a bit faster, before he was roughly tugged back by the collar of his robes. _Now_ he was pissed off. Whipping around to glare at his companion, Tom opened his mouth to begin to scold him for the action, and perhaps even go on a rant about the warrior's oddities today, but he stopped midway when he saw Harry's slightly panicked, if not a bit relieved, expression.

It disappeared in a blink of an eye, and the Magus was forced to wonder if he had imagined it.

"Err—wait! I'm a bit tired! Can we take a break?" asked Harry nervously, though the man seemed to resist looking back and forth around the area.

Tom narrowed his eyes. Something was up. They had just taken a break awhile ago, and if there was anything that could be said about Harry's physical shape, it was that the man had some serious stamina. Usually whenever they stopped, it was without anyone saying anything, or the warrior would point out a spot if he saw the slightest sign of Tom getting tired. It was how things worked between them, so for Harry to break that _now_—

"…Alright," he agreed slowly.

Before the Magus even knew what was happening, he was dragged back and slightly to the side to a nearby cluster of big rocks. Tom was bodily forced to sit down, and then a weight was plopped into his lap as Harry took his own seat.

Before Tom could say anything, the warrior wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled himself up to whisper in his ear.

"We're surrounded," he breathed.

Tom bit his lip to keep from focusing on how good it felt to have Harry's breath against his ear. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the man's waist and glanced at him from the corner of his eyes.

"I've been trying to throw the ones behind us off of our trail, but they were too persistent—I didn't know that we were being corralled, sorry," whispered Harry.

The Magus buried his nose in Harry's hair, insistent on ignoring how right this felt and instead focusing on the situation at hand. "Where are the few in front of us?" he asked quietly.

"There's one behind the first rock, one or two hidden in the bushes by the shell, and one behind the third tree on the left."

Tom wanted to facepalm. _Of course_ Harry had been trying to point them out to him—everything had been an act!—but he hadn't noticed a thing.

"It's fine," murmured the warrior reassuringly as if he had read Tom's thoughts. "I wouldn't have been able to find them either without stretching my senses. They're ridiculously good at hiding—the good news is that they're all humans, so we don't have to worry about facing off against a bonded Magus and Fighter pair just yet."

He felt Harry's head shift, no longer craning upwards to secretly whisper in his ears. Tom almost jumped when he felt something soft against his neck, but he forced himself to appear relaxed and completely at ease. His companion would be the death of him—were those _lips_?

Tom strained his ears to hear what Harry was murmuring against his neck, using the feel of the man's mouth to help put together his message.

"There isn't exactly an army of them, but it's no trio after us either. I'm pretty sure I can take them, but I doubt I can get away with doing so without killing them."

The Magus gently lifted Harry's head away from his neck, using a firm grip on his chin to pull the man's face close to his own. _At this angle… it would look like…_ "I'm with you," Tom murmured back.

Harry smiled. "On my signal then. In front of us first; the few behind us are farther back."

With that said, the warrior began to draw them into their adversaries' trap, careful to continue his act of obliviousness, as well as being lust-struck. He laughed breathlessly, uttering "Tom…" in such a convincing way that said man wondered where _exactly _he had learned this from.

But now was not the time. Not when the Magus knew he needed to focus.

Slowly, Harry stood, gently dragging Tom up with him and keeping them close together as he walked backwards. They acted completely enchanted with each other, ignoring the outside world entirely and going so far as to share what looked to be brief, intimate touches that would lead to something else.

_Two more steps…_

Harry mentally prepared himself. They would strike soon—almost—

_Here._

Out from the locations that he had pointed out, several figures leaped out from the brush and flew at them, sharp weapons brandished that could only be identified by the glint of the sun. Harry drew his own, ripping off the cord around his neck that caused the charm to enlarge and form the weapon he had killed the troll with. Tom moved as well, and at the very same moment that they both began to move, the Magus drew from the sheath slung on his companion's belt the small, though definitely sharp, dagger that the man usually fought with.

Three men behind, two men forward. Tom easily took care of the latter, having ducked beneath Harry's arm after he drew the dagger, and them therefore not having expected the blows that were coming. From far behind where Harry had dealt with _his_ part, more of the specially trained humans approached, and these were not so easily caught off guard.

But that didn't matter to the pair.

They had spent weeks together, Tom watching the warrior's fighting and observing the style and swift efficiency that he moved with. Harry himself easily adjusted his patterns to that of the Magus', ending up with a deadly, effective, slightly shaky but hardly seeming like their first time, combination. Things didn't go easily or perfectly, but that was fine—they wanted _results_, not perfection.

The point was that Tom's own combat style was neither professionally instructed nor smooth and fanciful. It was brutal, it was dirty, and it was hardly conventional. Underhanded tactics were used whenever possible—there were no morals in life and death situations, and that was how Tom had learned. All-in-all, it wasn't as graceful as Harry's, but it was incredibly effective, and if Tom ignored all morals and niceties like most (if not all) of his opponents did, then who the hell cared if his style was merciless?

Not, keeping in mind _who_ exactly Tom was fighting with back to back, meaning that Harry's style specifically was that of the pandering upper classes that only fought for sport. No, the warrior had grown up in a tribe, meaning his combat abilities were half taught and half instinctual. Harry developed his own style as a variant of the basics that his tribe had standardized, such as using their environment, and through that made all of his movements precise, meaningful, and smooth with fatal accuracy.

The bodies of the fallen littered the ground, though perhaps that was an exaggeration—there had only been a handful of "assassins". But Harry thought they had still done pretty well, having been outnumbered.

The pair made their way further along the path before branching off, having felt that they had set enough of a distance between their foes and them.

Harry collapsed on the ground, where Tom joined him only a moment later, laughing breathlessly as the adrenaline from the fight began to fade. He glanced over at the Magus, who also had a look of satisfaction on his face, and his smile widened.

"We make a good team," murmured Harry.

Tom snorted. "That we do."

* * *

**Word Count:** 1532

**Word Prompt:** Act


	28. Entry XXVIII: Ghosts

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note: **Okay, so this is no longer a drabble series... lol. Passed 2k words on this chapter ;~;. Word prompt chosen by _Neko-chan -Silvered Tongue_. My original idea was to have them actually see ghosts on Half Moon Mountain, but then I remembered they weren't actually there yet, so I went for the next best thing. Yay, back story development! Haha.

* * *

**T**he unorthodox pair sat around a campfire, having already finished off their last meal of the day, in mostly silence. It was this, this time of relaxation, the time where all the tenseness disappeared but their guards did not, this one time of the day where they simply took comfort in a silent companionship before bed.

But tonight would not be so silent, if the watchers in the night had anything to say about it.

From above, the sound of an owl called from a distant tree, loud and ringing still, and the moon was full and bright, as if in wait to be worshipped by her hidden loyal followers.

"They say that strange things happen in Half Moon Mountain when there's a full moon," Tom said suddenly, and Harry stared at him, that man who he had grown increasingly fond of, neck craned upwards to look at the moon in a sort of calm contemplation.

"Like what?" asked Harry after some time.

"The presences of those of the past come to rise, just as the tale of the Three Brothers says the Resurrection Stone causes. You see the one you wish to see the most, your heart's desire of the times long before," he murmured. "Tell me, Harry, if you could speak to one person who is dead now, who would it be?"

The warrior cocked his head to the side, wondering of Tom's melancholic mood. It was… strange, for the man to say so much in more than words, but perhaps it wasn't too unprecedented. This night was the night for strange things, after all.

"One person, you say?" mused Harry. "Then… probably my mother."

Tom lowered his head to look at him in mild surprise. "Your… mother?"

He nodded, albeit somewhat sadly and adopting his own melancholic air. "Both of my parents are dead. She—she was killed, along with my father, when they went to the capital one day…"

"And you choose to speak to your mother over your father?"

Harry shrugged. "It's not like I care about her more than him—they _are_ my parents, and I love them both equally, but I just… I want to understand. Why she died, I mean. I… I was told they were murdered for something they had done in the past, that they were wanted, but I was told nothing more than that. They—"he looked away, off to the side, as if dreading to remember,"—They told me to stay at home, that day. That they wouldn't take me to the capital until I was older."

"And then?"

"Next thing I knew it, I was being told I'm an orphan," he replied, smiling grimly. "But my parents always had a reason for what they did. If they had to visit the capital, then it would be for something important. The only thing I can think of was that they knew it would be dangerous, so didn't take me—but that still doesn't tell me _why_ my mother died, you know?"

"I find I don't quite understand," Tom said quietly, knowing how sensitive a subject this was. "You don't know _why _she died? Didn't you say that they knew it was potentially dangerous?"

"Exactly," Harry said, no louder than a whisper. "She—my mother—"he started off again in a louder voice,"—she was four months pregnant."

Tom found he could not say anything to that. It wasn't really anything you commented on, either—not if you were like him. What could he say, to a person that he was finding more similar to him than he had first thought? What could he say to him now, that wouldn't sound like false comfort from someone desperately trying to be sympathetic, but only showing pity instead?

"When I was little, I couldn't understand," he continued with a small, shaky laugh. "I thought up all kinds of conspiracy theories, that they weren't dead and whatnot. That they weren't gone. That they couldn't be—strong and courageous, brave and seemingly invincible, how could they be dead? But when I learned to accept it, learned that they probably _knew_ the danger that they were getting in, I wonder why Dad didn't leave Mum behind. Why did they both go to the capital? Why, when she was so vulnerable, did my mother go?"

"You think that she was trying to protect you," Tom stated softly, a deduction that he had made from his companion's tone of voice. "You think—but you don't know for sure, so you're hesitant to really believe it."

"Yeah," mumbled Harry. "I just—I just want to _know_. Why didn't she stay? I know my father probably _tried_ to make her stay, but my mother's a driving force in her own right. She could've convinced him to let her go. But _why?_ So… yeah. That's why I'd want to talk to her. Just to find out. Tying loose ends, and what not."

Tom nodded. He found that the pure fact that Harry had told him this—this part of _his_ life in particular—was some kind of huge achievement. The warrior may be talkative, but that didn't mean he spoke of his personal matters. And this… this was Harry. This was part of him, a piece of him that he would always be with him. His parents. And Tom found that he could not selfishly take without giving when it came to Harry, and that he really didn't want to, so—

"I would also speak to my mother," Tom murmured.

Harry looked at him in surprise. Whether that was because he was freely volunteering information about his life, or whether because it was his mother he had chosen, the Magus didn't know.

"Why?" asked his companion, just as softly as Tom had before.

"She died during childbirth. In the union between my mother and father, _she_ was the Magus and my father a human. He was selfish, cruel, and treated her like an annoying pest to be squashed. He abandoned her, even though she gave all the love her already worn heart could hold."

"I… I don't understand."

And Tom found himself slightly surprised that he _knew_ what Harry didn't understand. That he knew that he wasn't talking about his father, or his treatment of his mother, or his mother's previous life. It was odd, but comforting, and helped when he was telling someone he had told no other.

"She was weak," he whispered. "Physically, mentally, naturally, however you wish to say it. She was weak, even as a Magus, and she had no Fighter. Though, she did indeed to wish for one, to wish for someone who would always be beside her, but she was denied of any chance of that. And then she met my father, the lowest scum on earth, living as one of the wealthiest men in town."

"And then," Tom continued, "she fell in love. My father happened to have been very handsome, apparently, and she fell in love at first sight. But he was indifferent to her—how could he not be, when she was poor, nothing exotic to look at, and was no finer a woman than the torn shoes she wore? It was a stupid, poorly formed love—perhaps not even, maybe it was simply physical attraction or yearning for a comfortable life that made her love him."

"You don't seem very fond of either of them," murmured Harry.

"I'm not," replied Tom. "They were both fools—both selfish, both full of human flaws, even though my mother was a Magus. I said she died in childbirth, and that is true. True, even though it should be false! She died because of her weak will, because she didn't want to _live_, even for the child that she desperately wanted to bring into this world! As a Magus, she had enough sustenance to keep alive through the birthing process, to _live_, if only she chose to—but the man who impregnated her had already broken her heart, even though the shards of it still loved the image of him—"

"—She was a fool," he bit out. "A foolish, foolish woman, with no self respect, no dignity, no pride. She only lived long enough to find out that her son was a boy, and to name him after the very man who killed her. After the very man who then went on to refuse said boy as a son, until he found out how powerful he was. And then, that very man who had abandoned the woman who had loved him, who abandoned the son who knew nothing of the world, went on to claim that son as his own, simply because of his power."

"My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle," he said distastefully. "Tom, after the scum that I'm forced to share blood with. Marvolo, for the insane, abusive uncle I had never met, and Riddle, because the blasted sham of a man I was forced to accept as a father managed to change my name as the last task in this world before dying a horrible, gruesome death."

"Did you kill him?" Harry asked, eyes not judging and instead only curious.

"No. The people who wanted my power tried to hunt me down, and he was killed as a casualty. No doubt he did nothing to protect me, nothing to defend me—alas, he died only because he was in the way. I didn't need him to survive, anyways."

Harry paused before asking another question. "…Why would you want to speak to her, then? Your mother?"

Tom turned away. "I find that we're alike, Harry," he murmured. "We're similar. Why I would want to speak to a woman who I have never known, whose very death caused me more problems than anyone had ever known at such a young age, is very simple. For why did she die, if she wanted to bring in her son to this world? Why would she die, if she wanted to have a child, _that_ child of the man she loved, so badly? Did she not care enough to raise him? Was her heart so miserably broken that she couldn't even called upon a shred of will?"

"You… you want to know why she didn't die before. Why she didn't let go, before…"

"…Yes. I wonder why I didn't die with her, a mere fetus who had yet to be brought forth to know and speak and have rational thought."

"Maybe," Harry began thoughtfully after a long stretch of silence, "maybe because we are both curious, both wanting answers, is why we don't wish to speak to people who mean more. People who could give us some substantial knowledge. I could ask to speak to the Ancients, to the people who began my tribe, and gain their knowing of the world then. You could talk to the first Magus, perhaps when it was the time where there was no difference between them and a human and a Fighter. When they were all one people—"

"—But even knowing that, I would still choose to speak to my mother, and you your own. You hold no sentimental values for yours, and I have no sentimental reasons to speak to mine. How odd is it, do you think, that we've met? That we're here now? And none of that might've happened if both of our mothers didn't die. I might be dead, or at least sheltered away and mewed up, and you could be anywhere else in this world, perhaps with a Fighter by your side and a quest with a band of people instead of only yourself."

"And both of us would never know each other's company," continued on Tom for Harry, the sullen air about them both slowly disappearing. "And I would never know how inconvenient it is, to not have access to my magic—"

"And _I _would never know what it feels like, to travel with only another who is so different from me," mused Harry. "Who is part of no tribe, from a different place than the Forest, and to top it all off, is a Magus with no Fighter!"

"And we would both be in different places, never to meet," accepted Tom. "For if I was never told to go into the Forest, then I never would've, and the Sorcerer's Stone would never have been known to me, and I would still be on my way seeking power instead of a person beside me or three magical artifacts."

"I don't think I could imagine it," murmured the warrior. "Too many things have changed now. I've come to understand new things, some impossible to forget. There would be no horrid future for the oracle to predict, and perhaps in that life we would've both thought that nothing is ever predestined at all—or do you think so?"

"…Perhaps once I did," replied Tom. "And even now, maybe a little. When all is said and done though, when all is thought through and pondered on again—"

"We probably were never meant to meet," finished Harry with a wry grin.

"The odds were against us," the Magus agreed.

"And still are."

"And still are," Tom agreed again.

Harry laughed giddily. "Alright then. How about some sleep? If we're going to go about defying the Fates again tomorrow, might as well be bright eyed and bushy tailed."

"Acceptable." Tom inclined his head, and they both settled down for the night to rest. He knew Harry never slept right away—usually stood guard, in fact, with his heightened senses. He also knew he would be awakened in an hour or two to take his own shift, and that was perfectly fine. Things now with Harry were like clockwork, comfortable and constant, even if the day's events weren't.

It was… _nice_, and the thought of ghosts and pasts were put away, even as the full moon still gazed dauntingly down on them.

* * *

**Word Count:** 2329

**Word Prompt:** Ghosts


	29. Entry XXIX: Arc

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note: **BET YOU DIDN'T SEE THIS COMING HAHAHAHAHA.

...Aww Tom you poor baby ;~;. Go hug Harry and make it better, k?

* * *

**T**om didn't make it his business to snoop around into… well, _other_'s business. That just wasn't the way he worked. If he wanted blackmail, he'd get it through other means. End of story. Or, it _should be_, but sometimes things just simply didn't work out.

And this was one of those occurrences. Honest to Merlin, he hadn't meant to stumble upon it! But now that he _had_… what would become of everything? Of him? Of them? This quest?

He watched with piercing eyes as an owl took off into the night, flight silent and smooth as beautiful grey wings sliced through the air, tracing an arc before dipping and spiraling towards the trees. Certainly he had gone off to go hunting, and would be back perhaps in an hour. It wouldn't be too hard; they were at the base of the mountain now, in a decently sized cluster of a forest, perfect for nesting prey.

That was what Harry had always excelled at, after all… being the predator.

But now Tom knew why. He couldn't deny it any longer, if he had even thought of it in the first place. It had seemed far too ridiculous—Bestia-types were _rare_! They existed, but consisted less than 10% of the Fighter population. The numbers were absurd. And yet here one was, right in front of the Magus' face, hidden where all secrets always were. _Out in the open_. And now Tom didn't know what to do, because he had sworn inside himself that no Fighter would ever be deserving of him, but if _Harry_ was that companion beside him, he didn't know if that saying held true.

He had thought that the contradicting statements would never come to light—after all, the warrior _wasn't_ a Fighter, or so Tom had believed. But he was, so how did everything piece together now?

In retrospect, Harry being a Bestia-type made _sense_. There was an air of _wild_ about him, something untamable and naturally beautiful. Something to be respected and to be _feared_. It was why he was obeyed out in the wilderness, why he _knew_ what to look for out here where he belonged, even if he had never stepped foot in the territory. The animal inside of him was a _part_ of him—but he was also Harry, the human, and Tom could at least admit that both sides appealed to him in several ways.

So far, he knew of two of his forms—an owl and a squirrel, the latter not necessarily being something that he expected from the predator that he seemed to be. It was, however, possible that the man had a third form, rare as the occurrence was. And if it existed, then it _had_ to be a large cat, which species he didn't know.

Well, Harry was certainly powerful enough to have three forms, so Tom wouldn't put it past that.

But now that he knew the warrior's secret, what was he to do? Would anything change? It was admittedly understandable that the man would keep this part of him a secret; Bestia-type were rare, though not unorthodox, and seeing as Tom had obviously had an aversion to Fighters in general… On top of that, Harry was unbound. He didn't have a Magus.

…Or did he?

Is it possible that Harry had a Magus, but something had _happened_, and so he refused to take on another? A bound pair was only separated through death; rejection would only thin the bond to a very slight strand, but a link nonetheless. Piecing together all of the information he knew about Harry, Tom inferred that it was likely that his old Magus had died. Harry was _loyal_, fiercely so—so he wouldn't put it past him to swear to never have another partner.

Something inside Tom's chest ached at the thought. At that moment, he realized he was sort of like the night sky—all encompassing, powerful, dominant in presence—but so easily sliced away, just like by the tip of a bird's wing. So easily forgotten, so easily feared… to never find another to stay by his side, as the moon's light rejected his darkness and the sun turned its back on him.

He was the night—nonexistent until there was an absence of day.

Nothing would really change, he mused. Nothing except where their places were. Harry was not—_could not_ be—his, and whatever they had between them, this camaraderie, this friendship, this more-than-that-but-less-than-this relationship, would end and fade whenever this quest reached completion. That was all. By that time he hoped to have his magic back and therefore, most likely, some sort of Fighter that wouldn't match his standards but he was forced to take.

He thought back to the oracle and her soft words. _Happiness? _What was that? What happy ending was there, in a world that he knew to be unfair and unjust? Where survival of the fittest was everywhere, simply in different senses and different guises, hidden to give way for an illusion of a utopia?

All of a sudden, Tom felt dirty. He felt like he needed to scrub his skin clean, even before anything touched it. To be _forced_ to call someone his later on, to find them useless and no more than a tool when they were supposed to be one's equal… it was disgusting. This was why—this was why he didn't _want_ a Fighter! They would never be able to stand beside him. They would never be powerful enough to stand in front of him, defending _him_ like some damsel in distress!

He hated the standardized formation of the age, how there would always be a back line and a front line and never simply an _in between_ that worked. It put you at a disadvantage in a fight, or so it was supposed to be—but he hated it so much and all he wanted was to be _alone_ or at least with someone who could stand _beside_ him instead of behind or forward or—

Whatever. Tom just wanted this stupid quest to end.

* * *

**Word Count:** 1016

**Word Prompt: **Arc


	30. Entry XXX: Welcomed

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

**T**he duo of powerful (though sealed) Magus and (newly discovered) Fighter made their way up the rocky environment of Half Moon Mountain in surprising silence. Attacks had been more often now, and they were both on the edge. Assassins seemed to litter the natural grounds where ledges and rock formations easily hid those wanting to be inconspicuous.

Harry thought it odd that they didn't all just group up and jump them. Surely they must've figured out that Tom's magic was sealed by now…? But no, this area had a nullification barrier over it anyways, so that certainly wasn't the case, as they must assume that it had been blocked by such. Whatever the case, the events occurring had felt… odd, as if their foes had been _trying_ but not to _succeed_. It was as if… as if… as if this was leading up to _something_.

But what?

On Tom's side, he hated relying on his abilities to physically brawl. It just wasn't his _preferred_ way of fighting, but it wasn't like he was going to get back his magic anytime soon now knowing the requirements, so he supposed he had to deal with it. His only saving grace was retaining some of his heightened senses, the magic having seeped into his body so much so as to fully meld with it at points. Never had he been so blatantly aware of his lack of real defenses.

Even if he could defend himself, for how long? Against what numbers? What was his real limit, and what was hopeless? Questions bounced around inside his head, unable to settle due to his instinctive dislike for weakness. Weakness had not saved him when he was young, and it would not save him now. But what _could_ he do?

They tried to avoid clearings where they could be surrounded, but it really wasn't their choice of where the trail lead to. It was the only way up the mountain, and even if they could branch out from it that would simply force them to climb tall cliffs and places where they could easily be snipped off.

Harry suddenly paused, posture going rigid as he tugged Tom back. The Magus got the queue, readying himself for what he knew was to come.

But never like _this_!

Humans dressed to blend in with the environment leapt out of their vantage points, surrounding them on all sides. There were at least a dozen of them, with weapons ranging from blades to the more magical, exotic types seen with the rich and professional, crafted by the indiscriminate Magi of the weapons' guild.

Tom spun, placing himself back-to-back with his companion. His eyes flickered, taking in the situation as calmly as he could. He distinctively heard Harry snarl behind him, but he forced himself to ignore it in favor of the slowly closing in assassin crew.

There was no way in hell that he was dying here!

Knowing that there was no other way but to take the offensive, the duo quickly moved, never straying far from each other. In a situation like this, it was wise to force your opponents to harm _themselves_ rather to rely on only the damage you could inflict to them. The small crevice they were fighting in also gave them the advantage, and such was the nature of the fight—closed, dirty, and all completely necessary.

Even then, it was hard. The assassins weren't stupid by any means—they never struck recklessly or without some degree of calculation. It was clear that they had been trained for this, this mission, these actions, against _them_. Or, well, Tom—but though he was a force to be reckoned with _without _his magic, a Magus without their power source was simply weaker than he was with it.

And this shone true when Tom felt himself tire.

The fight was brutal, sharpened weapons flying from the left and right, some ranged and others melee. Behind him he knew Harry was doing his best with his own weapon, no hesitation at all when he flung the poisonous blade free from its deceptive form. True, they had taken out many, but what was that compared to those that were left?

A dozen? There _had_ to be more!

Tom hissed in surprise as he was suddenly flung backwards, back hitting the rough rock. He refused to wince in pain, to show weakness, but never had he expected that _Harry_ had been the one to throw him back! About to scowl at his companion for his seemed betrayal, he could not help his eyes from widening as he took in the sight before him.

Harry's entire arm was bloodied, a large wound running down half its length. He had taken a blow for Tom, having shoved him out of the way of the blade and then been unable to defend himself.

"You're not going to touch him," the warrior snarled as he placed himself defensively between the Magus and the assassins.

"You don't seem to have a choice," said one softly. They raised their weapons.

Sensing their intent, though they never made a move to hide it, Harry glared and raised his own weapon, though it was not nearly as threatening as the many that stood before him despite its intimidating form. "Over my dead body!" he growled, and then his entire body seemed to shudder.

Everything happened in a blink of an eye—less than a split second—a sliver of time that Tom could not find that he could describe. Harry's body had seemed to collapse in upon itself, but then his form had blurred and stuttered and suddenly—suddenly—

A cougar draped with an unknown metal armor had lunged at the men, who had no time to react as they were suddenly mauled with razor sharp claws. It was violent, _merciless_ as it absolutely destroyed its opponents before they realized what was happening.

But that was not enough—once they had realized what had happened, they all lunged at the animal with a rapid and unrelenting accuracy. Harry put up a fight in his own right, but it was clear that he was being overcome—though the sheer amount of damage he was doing alone was impressive and not be underestimated.

Something struck inside of Tom at the scene, some feeling that he could not say. He had never been _protected_ before, genuinely, because he was _himself_ and not because of his power. And he had to say, he _hated _it. Detested the feeling of uselessness. Tom couldn't even say he felt _flattered_, as that would be absurd in the type of situation they were in—but more than that, he hated the thought of Harry's dripping blood being spilt _for_ him, because he was _weak_, because he was _useless_, and because he _wasn't_ the powerful entity that he had always known himself to be.

It was a feeling akin to the worst sludge in existence, with stench so vile that it could fell great armies, with a viscosity so ridiculously high that it moved at the pace of a snail, with a shade so ugly that even the most optimistic would have to turn away. He felt sick; the fact that Harry was taking _this_, taking the hits, taking the pain—it didn't make him want to turn away. _No_, it was the driving force that made him want to _do something_.

Electricity he had never known to have existed filled the air, invading him from the outside and then filling him until he was completely full. His senses seem to have been entirely conquered by this fire; every part of him was suddenly super sensitive to the smallest thing. He felt his magic flare, stretch, try to break down the binds that separated it from… _whatever_ it was trying to reach—no, to _Harry_.

If that was the case, was the man unconsciously calling out to him? Was he asking for what Tom thought he was asking for, and in the case, would Tom decide to take it up? It only just registered in his mind what he was doing before he let go and threw his will wholeheartedly into his magic.

What happened next was hardly a surprise—fueled by the force of its Magus' willpower and agreement in its decision, the bindings of the Sorcerer's Stone were ripped to shreds, decimated in fact. With it gone, Tom's magic rushed to fulfill a new binding, a new _permanent_, _natural_ bond. Immediately he was hit with Harry's surprise, and no small bit of relief and excitement, but then came the magic from his _own_ side.

The humans had no sense to this matter—they could not feel the shift, could not feel the change that had just occurred—so when Tom instantly raised his palm and eradicated the lot of them, they obviously had not seen it coming.

Nor did Harry, but the male had the excuse of a bleeding wound and several other injuries to be dealt with swiftly.

Tom rose, his own ache quickly fading as his magic sought to repair all the damages done with a wicked type of glee. He made his way over to his new Fighter, who was still in his cougar form, and began to heal him with delicate care. The nullification barrier stood no chance stopping the Magus when his magic practically spilled out from him, rushing to touch the environment and surround its possessor once more after such a long period of separation.

Midway through the process, they heard a cackle and a sing-song voice coming from their left.

"Aww, is the ickle little kitty too tired to play? Sorry that Bella was a bit late to welcome you!"

* * *

**Word Count:** 1621

**Word Prompt: **Welcomed


	31. Entry XXXI: Revival

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note****: **So I'm thinking of getting myself a beta... thoughts? Volunteers? Comments? :D Either a beta, or just someone to discuss my ideas with who won't suddenly disappear off the face of the earth on me, or who isn't bothered to get spoilers for the sake of helping me with my plot line ;_;

* * *

Tom didn't know how to describe the sense of calm that fell over him now that he had his magic back. It was the most comfortable thing in the world, after all the time spent without it—but more than that, _more_ than that, there was Harry.

And Tom found he couldn't say with words how it was like to _feel_ anyone this intimately, this closely. It was doubtlessly beautiful, mercilessly shocking, and entrancingly wondrous—to feel another's emotions like it were his own, but to be able to differentiate between them as well, no book had been able to give the sensation justice. No, Tom found that this was one of the few things that one must experience on their own to truly understand. Though, did he? Did he really comprehend this change, swift and subtle as they were permanent?

Small echoes of pain transferring through the bond called his attention back to reality, and he quickened the healing process even as Harry sent his reassurances immediately. The cougar form he was in gently butted its head against his chest, a form of affection that sent fuzzy feelings coursing through Tom's body from _both_ sides of their link. Regardless of the situation they had just been in, the Magus found himself smiling softly. Yes, this is what it was like to be connected to someone else so intimately—connected to _Harry_.

They would need to discuss of things later, true, and doubtless the consequences would soon catch up with them, but for now, the task at hand was to make sure his Fighter was free of injury and wound, so that was what Tom did. The adrenaline of the skirmish was still rushing through both of their veins, and they found that they could not think on depressing things quite yet. Perhaps later, when they were able to get away from this battlefield—

"Aww, is the ickle little kitty too tired to play? Sorry that Bella was a bit late to welcome you!"

Tom snapped his gaze forward, magic still intent on healing his Fighter but his mind racing upon the new development. A woman dressed in black, sleek clothing accompanied by a man who wore the conservative clothes of a Fighter… he narrowed his eyes. He knew this pair.

Who didn't? The woman's childish way of speaking combined with the insane glint in her eyes was an infamous one—a combination only belonging to one figure that was recognized in the highest circles for her mischievous deeds. Bellatrix Lestrange or the Black Magus as she was occasionally called originated from the Black family, whose line was widely known to house those of great dark powers as well as focusing on only Magus to Magus pairings to "keep the bloodline pure".

She was particularly known for being a thorn in the Ministry's and even the Council's side, torturing and causing general terror in her wake to bring the darker aspects of magic to sole rule. As of now there was a balance between the two, though the scales were tipping to the light slightly, but the constant stream of powerful Magi through the centuries having a mixture of orientations had kept the scale level.

But Bellatrix had not cared. Beside her, as always, stood her faithful lover and Fighter, the calm and indifferent Rodolphus Lestrange, a Gladius-type with his equally infamous blade upon his belt.

Tom _knew_ that they were no fakes. But how could it be? They were—they were—they were dead! The two had finally been killed by the Council, officially captured by Albus Dumbledore himself a few years ago. So how, how was this possible?

The growl that had ripped forth from Harry's throat was enough to bring him away from his thoughts. Their intent was obvious, but Tom had no intentions of dying today.

"Don't worry little wittle kitty! Bella will be sure to take _great_ care of your Magus! He'll be given to the Master, wrapped up tight with a big bow on top!" she cooed, taking great glee in seeing the armored feline snarl in agitation bordering rage.

Tom found himself rising after he had discreetly finished the healing process. His magic sight zoned in on the woman, seeing her magic dance about her erratically. There had been no doubt that the nullification barrier wasn't going to stop her, but it wasn't a risk to confirm it. He knew himself that the block would not stop his magic either, so if a fight would occur…

The only problem was the experience difference. Harry hadn't been his Fighter for as long as Rodolphus had been Bellatrix's—was it possible to beat the pair in a full on fight?

"And what makes you think," he spit out distastefully, "that I would let you?"

Bellatrix smiled, toothy and insane. "I'd expect you wouldn't! But what kind of resistance would you be able to put up when you treat your Fighter like _trash_?"

Tom saw red with her taunt. "_Trash?_" he ground out.

"You didn't use magic until the very end," she waved with a casual air. "The beating you let him take for you was enough to let me see _that_. After all, if the barrier was causing you problems that _at least_ could be an excuse, but no! It _wasn't_ an issue to you at all. I know that some Magi prefer to use their Fighters as tools, but a pairing like _that_ won't make us sweat a teensy bit as we destroy you, right darling?"

Rodolphus glanced at his wife and then back to Tom, eyeing him with no little distaste. "Of course," he simply said.

_Oh_, they were going _down_.

Harry seemed to share his sentiments, as he slinked forth and growled threateningly, showing off his impressive sharp teeth as anger bled through his eyes. But Tom didn't let himself fall behind into the back line—no, he stepped up right beside Harry, and through their bond as well as their eyes the promise was silently passed.

The moment only lasted a sliver of a second. Anytime after that, everyone had moved.

Rodolphus appeared before them, sword drawn and speed seemingly unparalleled. He had darted forth, ready to fall them in one fell swoop, but Harry was having none of that. The Bestia-type smoothly countered with a tackle that the other Fighter was forced to dodge, and Tom did not hesitate to take the opportunity and try to snare Bellatrix before she could fire off more spells than he was inclined to dodge.

However, Rodolphus merely maneuvered around and intercepted him, though his attack once again was blocked by Harry, and the two were forced into their own small skirmish once more.

Bellatrix cackled. "You aren't going to get anywhere if you're trying to lure us into a one versus one! _Nothing_ can separate a Magus and their Fighter!"

Tom narrowed his eyes. They were at a disadvantage if they tried to meet the more experienced pair in a face off, but if they targeted Rodolphus, Bellatrix would no doubt prove a problem. So, how…? An urging feeling broke off his line of thought as it filtered through the bond, and suddenly the Magus understood what Harry was trying to tell him as he dodged the spells and blade that swung at them.

_Stop_.

_Stop thinking._

_Stop trying to strategize._

_Stop, because it's not working._

_Stop._ Only _feel._

And he did. He felt their knowledge mesh together, all of the duels he had been through, and all of the battles Harry had been forced to take part in, all their combat experience seemed to bleed across. What was this called; this seamless merging of minds?

Electricity snapped and crackled in the air, an aftereffect of the strong magic that was summoned regardless of the nullification barrier. It was an odd sight, to be honest—on one side, a Magus stood a ways back behind her Fighter, and on the other, two fought side by side, an unknown element flaring out from them.

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed. Yes indeed, what _was_ this? They couldn't have been bonded for very long—not as long as she and Rodolphus! Tom Riddle had still been an unbound Magus before his quest had started, so why—why were they, the more superior, being pushed back?

Her beloved was having trouble, she knew, but no matter what she did to try and help him it seemed useless. The spells she threw, the magic she pulled from her very inner core, all of it seemed to be for not. But it was ridiculous! Rodolphus had taken on armies for her, had taken on two dozen of men with _her_ as his sole backline, so why were they being overcome by only two?

The cougar's form smoothly shifted into a human's, transition faster than one could account for, and suddenly Rodolphus' blade was no longer being held back by magic or countered by an animal's quick movement. The stinging sound of a blade clashing with another rang through the area, and Harry's green, green eyes almost caused the Gladius-type to falter.

But then the man disappeared, and Rodolphus, for all of his speed, could not comprehend the time between the man's position in front of him to switch to Riddle's. And that was his downfall. Just like the electricity around them, Tom struck, magic flaring and wrapping about him, his palm held close to his body but held out in a pushing motion against the opposing Fighter, causing him to be thrown back with a violent force as Bellatrix proved unable to stop it.

He collided with rock and rubble, painpain_pain_ shooting through him from the physical and magical impact, only raising his head in time to see the Bestia-type, in his human form, shoving the female Magus down to the ground, a rough grip on her shoulder as his knee pressed into her back, his teeth barred and a wild growl rumbling from his chest.

_How—_?

Tom glared coldly at them both; the want—the _need _to make them pay for their comments first and foremost in his mind.

But it was Harry who spoke. "So, _trash_, are we?" he spat.

"Obviously they had no idea who they were speaking to," followed up Tom.

"Indeed," Harry murmured dangerously. "So, tell us—"he shoved Bellatrix further into the ground,"—who sent you?"

"I don't have to tell you anything," the Magus spat.

"No," silkily replied Tom, his hand suddenly raised toward her with the glow of magical buildup in his grasp, "but it would be in your best interest to."

"Don't touch her," rasped Rodolphus. He recognized a powerful threat when he saw one, and he had no intention for his wife to be harmed. "I will tell you."

Harry raised his gaze, though Tom didn't. The Bestia-type's weighty gaze fell upon the other Fighter, and the rage seemed to subside. "Who, then?" he asked.

"The Master sent us," Rodolphus replied quietly. "He wants your Magus," he nodded to Tom, "and we were told to ignore you—kill you if we must, but the Magus must not be harmed."

"Rodolphus!" Bellatrix shrieked.

"Hush, Bellatrix," the Fighter commanded.

"Who is the Master?" inquired Tom.

"…He is our Lord," answered Rodolphus. "The man who gave us life. He is our sovereign, and he will be yours soon as well."

"So he plans to overtake the Council?"

"He will _destroy_ the Council," easily stated Rodolphus. "But he will obtain _you_ first, and then he will be unstoppable."

"The only way he's going to get Tom is over my dead body," rumbled Harry.

The Gladius-type looked at the Fighter pinning his wife down, and a flash of understanding gleamed in his eyes before all was wiped away and his normal indifferent look replaced it. "You have your answers," he said simply, and then with speed unexpected of one who had been wounded, charged at Harry and flung him away with the force exuberated from the swipe of his sword.

Tom immediately posed to bind him, but that proved unnecessary as he did not continue his attack. Instead, the Fighter helped his wife to her feet and took her in his arms, leaping away with inhuman distance.

"The Master will have what he wants," Rodolphus said before he was out of hearing range. "No matter what information you gain of him, you will not be able to stop him."

Tom and Harry were forced to watch as their attackers made their retreat.

* * *

**Word Count:** 2087

**Word Prompt: **Revival


	32. Entry XXXII: Enchanted

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note****: **I swear there's a point to this chapter other than fulfilling my needs to get TMR/HP really rolling _somewhere_. I swear. Just give me a couple days to find one and then I'll get back to you.

And I still need that beta/confidant please~ TTvTT

* * *

**H**arry sighed. "Well, at least we got out of that one relatively unscathed, right? And you got your magic back!"

Tom smiled slightly. "I suppose so." The things that went unspoken would be broached later. For now, all he wanted was a spot they could rest the remainder of the day away at.

Sensing his thoughts, though no doubt Harry probably would've known without the bond, the Fighter smiled back and waved him onward. "I smell water up ahead, and—"he cocked his head to the side, straining his focus as his eyes crinkled slightly,"—I think there's a cave, too. It sounds like its crashing against stone."

"Hnn…" And with that, the two left off, driven by the fatigue that caused the slow ache in their bones.

But it wasn't as simplistic as Tom would've liked. As they walked, it felt like an _itch_ was growing inside of his chest, making its way down to his hands and fingers. It was almost as if he _wanted_ something so very badly, that an ache entirely different from the one he was already feeling began to blossom from the pit of his stomach. His magic snapped about him, excited and erratic behavior odd and an occurrence that had never happened before.

Would he never understand the things that went on?

They were almost to the cave now, or so said Harry, and when it finally came into view Tom found he could no longer ignore the itch that had become a blazing fire. It scorched his body from the inside out, burningburning_burning _and yet still he tried to contain the feeling, trying to stop his hands from shaking as he clenched them into tight fists. So much effort it took to do the deed that he found he had stopped walking, and even stranger was that Harry did not make note of it.

_Harry_…

Desire shot down his spine, a shiver only making itself known through the quivering of his shoulders. Tom's breath came out in quick, deep puffs as he tried to keep his calm. What—what—

A hand grasped his arm, turning him around, and he found himself staring into Harry's wide open eyes, stained with a curious want as his mouth was slightly open. The Magus found his own reflection in his Fighter's green pools, and he was able to observe and therefore note that his own hunger was splayed out over his face.

"Tom…" Harry murmured hoarsely, his voice desperate and confused but also sure and needy.

He couldn't help it when he grabbed his Fighter's shoulders, pulling him closer, letting his hands slowly glide downwards to rest upon his hips. _Too much clothes… _The heat was overbearing, but for some reason, he found that he loved it—was addicted to it—could _not_ refuse it. Tom swallowed, trying to find his right mind again, but it was almost impossible. He could feel Harry's hot breath against his neck now, and the man was certainly not idle—hands gently caressed his sides in turn as well, and he didn't have to check to know that Harry was thinking the exact same things he was thinking.

"Nnn—what's—what's going on?" Harry breathily asked, the resistance clear in his voice but his body clearly unwilling to obey.

Tom licked his lips. He didn't know either, and part of him screamed that this was danger, but he also couldn't find it in himself to stop. The need to _know_ the cause of this was dim in his mind, trying to make itself known but completely overshadowed by the more primal desires he felt. It was even _amplified_ by the feelings echoed across the bond, telling him that he was not the only one feeling utterly out of control.

It wasn't an accident when the Magus leaned down to devour his Fighter's lips, nor was it a mistake that it lasted much… longer… than seemingly necessary (because really, there was no doubt in Tom's mind that his body found the act _extremely_ pressing). The feel of Harry's mouth, so eagerly moving against his, and the taste of his tongue against his own… Tom was very, _very_ tempted to throw in the metaphorical towel at logic and reason's feet, just so he could fully enjoy what was now so obviously his.

They ended up parting for air just long enough for Tom to regain his wits, and he regretfully pushed Harry away, hands shamefully shaking in mysterious _need_ to touch and feel. He couldn't… couldn't… as long as he knew that these actions were not under his own full will, he simply _could not _succumb. _But there was no doubt in his mind that a part of him wanted this as well, _so where exactly did that leave him?

He was a fool to think that a simple little shove would end the whole ordeal.

Tom suddenly found the world shifting, his view no longer of the ground but of the sky. He hardly registered the feel of the ground beneath his back, too occupied at looking at the man who had _pushed him down_ and was now looming above him.

_And all he saw was green, green, green…_

"Get off, Harry," he tried to command, though it ended up sounding more like a plea. _Ridiculous! Tom Riddle did not _beg_._

The man's eyes were glazed over with what Tom could not bring himself to call lust. If he did, he was afraid of succumbing to his own—no, the realization would have to be smothered and ignored. How was he to escape his own desires if he saw them mirrored right back?

"…Nn… can't—no, don't want to," Harry mumbled, leaning down so their foreheads touched. The movement allowed the Magus to feel just how very _warm_ his Fighter was, a heat that filled you up and refused to empty, even if dumped into the icy seas. It was like the mystic fires of the old, refusing to be put out unless it was by one _key_ thing… and Tom didn't want to think of what this one was, because that would break the last, _tiny_ bit of self control he had.

But Harry decided that Tom's restraint was completely unnecessary at the moment, trivial at best.

"Get _off_," he tried again, but he refused to use his magic to try (for if he did, it was doubtful whether or not he would get the intended results), and instead tried to buck the man off.

Wrong move.

Hothot_hot_ radiation consumed him, touching his body in a caress so soft and fleeting that all his mind could register was his need to have it _again_ and _again_ and _again_. Not that Harry seemed likely of denying the experience to him, no he seemed perfectly fine now with letting go and just moving wherever these feelings took them. Tom, however, didn't want to surrender so easily.

But it never was his decision, was it?

It hit Tom then and there, inconveniently timed but perhaps Fate meant it to be that way, the cause of it all, the _source_ of these _damned_ urges—!

The bond. There was a reason _why_ there were rituals and ceremonies that one went through when going through the bonding process if one was a Magus or a Fighter. For the sake of controlling the fluxations of overexcited magic, _rituals_ instead of direct bindings were used, though it was unnecessary for the end result.

The real _problem_ was that overexcited magic could cause… things to happen, whether that would be a physical explosion of some sort (those were always the messiest), both the participants fainting from shocking their systems, or, well…

Really, the only easy way to put _this _one would be to say it bluntly. Namely, the desire to have to have hot, raunchy sex.

Tom had read up on this all before, of course. There were whole theories dedicated to why overexcited magic could cause such _different_ scenarios, though not one was accepted as "the one" yet. And of course there were always warnings in the books required by law to be read at schools specifically made to teach Magi and Fighters, repeating the same things over and over again, _urging_ all of the students to use the ritual and ceremonial rites made specifically to stop the random occurrences.

In this situation, well, there wasn't really any _downside_ to it. No buildings would be destroyed (or in this case, no landslides caused), no moments of vulnerability (if one doesn't count being too occupied in trying to fuck their partner into the ground to pay attention to their surroundings), no forced feelings (other than the sexual urges, of course), and… hey, sex—what was the downside?

Logically speaking, there wouldn't be any mysterious "falling deeply in love with your partner forevermore" endings that would need extremely complex magic to get rid of, which meant that no intimate relationships would be formed through force, and it wasn't like they would need to have sex every day for the next seven months after this either. It was just the _raw want_ to fuck your partner.

And, after mulling it around in his head for a second and a half (which was honestly hard to do, what with someone intent on ravishing you just above), Tom decided that if there wasn't any way of stopping this (there wasn't), and there were no _real_ downsides (at the moment, there certainly weren't), then what the hell—why not?

But if they were going to do this, there was no _way_ that Tom was going to be bottom. No—_he_ was going to do the fucking here. With that in mind, he flipped a still-delirious Harry over, establishing his dominance and getting quite a bit more molesting in turn. They at least managed to get up and stumble into the cave before they lost all their wits.

"Sorry," Tom mumbled, shame at his inability to control himself taking control for the slightest sliver of time before he was trying to undress his companion even faster than before.

* * *

**Word Count:** 1684

**Word Prompt: **Enchanted


	33. Entry XXXIII: Surprise

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note****: **Yeah, there's plot development in here. Somewhere. Probably in between my urges for TMR/HP fluff. What can I say, I'm insatiable! Too bad things are going to have to go back to normal next chapter...

* * *

**H**arry found that he didn't quite care when he was roughly pushed onto the _hard, cold_ stone floor. His thoughts were far too occupied on what he was… ahem… _doing_, or, well, what was being done _to _him. There wasn't any emotion specific enough to describe what he was feeling, _lust_ and a mix of other things so thoroughly pumping through his veins that if he didn't know any better, he'd assume it was part of his own blood.

This was unnatural. No one was supposed to _want_ someone this much! He knew that, at least—and the way Tom had acted before, as if he were resisting something, had fueled that conclusion. But Harry was weak, weak to his emotions. He didn't like being controlled as much as the next person, but what could he do against his own strength?

And Tom. Tom had wholeheartedly thrown himself into his desires, and let it not be said that the Magus was to be underestimated in _anything_, because oh _gods_ the way that man made him feel…

The sense of _magic_ invaded him from the outside, a flood so powerful that it washed away every one of his thoughts. He had never felt like this before, never thought for a moment that he would ever feel so needed and wanted, yet mirrored those emotions in turn to create a mutual symphony of pure ecstasy. What more could he say?

Clothing seemed like a thing of the past. They hid nothing from each other, actually taking part in wicked glee of exploring each other's bodies before engaging fully. Whispered nothings and sweet, sweet sin fell off their lips, slowly dripping like honey from a spout. Soft, ever careful kisses mixed with rough nips, as if in a sham of an apology for the pain. But how could there be pain when all that was… was pleasure? Harry didn't understand, maybe even didn't want to.

Not right now.

He wanted to savor every feel, every wandering caress, every rough rack and every tight squeeze. He wanted—he wanted—yes! There!

And he lost all awareness to the world for a long, _long_ time.

However, when he did regain his right mind, it was quick and sudden, leaving him disoriented. Harry blinked, not really understanding what was happening. The world outside was dark, the moon somewhere he could not see, and though the air was cold, the warmth of the body next to him more than made up for it.

He sat up. There could only be one reason why he was awake.

But he had to be careful. He didn't want to wake Tom. Harry turned to his companion, shifting his body so the light that came in from the entrance would be blocked. With great care, he brushed a strand of hair back to where it belonged, smiling when the man did nothing more than try to move closer to the heat.

Accordingly, he adjusted the blanket, then moved on to observe all of the small details he had not been able to. Tom was handsome—he already knew that—but upon closer inspection, he could truly admire what a piece of art he truly was. Fair, pale skin, but not sickly, and went well with the jet black hair that just barely feathered his shoulders. A strong structure, but not off-putting in the least. He was _beautiful._

And only in that private minute did Harry allow himself to look at the man adoringly, _vulnerably_, because he'd rather die than be caught red-handed with such a look on his face. It simply wasn't fair, the fact that he _had_ the man but could not for the life of him say so with complete, utter confidence. Tom was not to be owned, but Harry thought he was quite close—though there was the chance that someone would be closer.

Because if this bonding was a mistake, if he wasn't the right Fighter that would give this Magus a chance of life, he knew what he would do on the spot. Tom was important—he would not jeopardize Tom. To break this bond, to permanently rip it to shreds, Harry would need to die.

He understood and accepted this as a part of life. If another came, more worthy, then he would happily give up his position, if only for the chance to assure Tom's happiness. Harry had had his own fill of the feeling once before, when his parents still walked the earth, and for someone like Tom, who had yet to experience that type of joy that came with love, his life would certainly be worth all the more.

He would be content, in the end, as long as he could see his beloved parents again.

Harry's attention shifted suddenly, away from his slumbering Magus, gaze moving to the cave entrance. And so here was the reason for his waking.

The white form of Luna Lovegood approached, her dreamy look matching her strolling gait. No one could look more at home anywhere else. The girl was probably special like that.

"Hello Harry," she greeted, stopping before she out right entered the cave. "I hope your night was pleasant."

"It was," he replied in kind, his bare chest not bothering either of them. "You were out for… a walk? So far away from Emeraude?"

Luna smiled. "Of sorts. May I come in?"

"Of course."

She skipped in immediately, taking a seat in front of the fire opposite to the two. "I did say we'd see each other soon, after all."

"So you did," Harry agreed, inclining his head. "Was there something important you needed?"

"Of great importance indeed, I'm afraid," Luna nodded, for once serious and out of character. "He loves you, you know."

That threw a wrench in Harry's thoughts. "—What?"

"Tom Riddle," she nodded to the body behind him, "he loves you as much as you love him."

"B—but I don't love him!"

"Don't you?" inquired Luna, a mystical look in her eye. "But fair enough, if you say you don't then you don't. So when you do, he'll love you as much as you'll love him. Always."

"…Doesn't that sound like some sort of fairy tale?" Harry asked, his patience not exactly worn but not looking any better either.

"So what if it does? That won't make it any less true—and don't you forget it!" Luna commanded, lifting her chin in a mocking look of regality. "Honestly—_don't_. Forget."

"Your words will be firmly branded in my mind, if they ever come to pass," Harry vowed.

"Don't even let them pass, Harry. Trust me. Love him and your love will be returned."

"…I don't understand," he finally admitted.

Luna didn't even belittle him for not understand such a simple statement, because she _knew_ that wasn't what he meant. "You don't need to. All you have to do is trust me."

They were silent for awhile, letting each others' words seep into their thoughts and blend with their knowledge.

"Can you tell me who the Master is?" The Fighter broke the silence.

"He is a dangerous man, Harry," she replied softly after a moment's pass. "He will stop at nothing to get what he wants, and what he wants is your Magus."

"Why would he want Tom? It's not like Tom would just—just _follow_ him or something," Harry muttered, thinking back on Bellatrix and Rodolphus.

"He has discovered a new trick," Luna said vaguely. "Or _tricks_, should I say. Using one of them, he plans to take Tom Riddle's power—the task will not be easy, but make no mistake. He _will_ succeed if his prey is alone. Don't leave him, Harry. For _anything_."

"I—I won't! Just… Who _is_ he?"

"…The Master is who he is. He used to be someone else, but now he's simply the Master. And Harry, you will face harsh times as well… who knows what he wants anymore. I can _see_, but I dare say it isn't enough. The future is too unclear. Nothing is definite enough."

"Is that why you came? To warn me?"

Luna smiled, strange and… _off_. "An oracle is not supposed to interfere," she said gravely, "nor is she supposed to play favorites, unless magic herself is at stake. But who knows anymore? The Master is ambitious, and though Tom Riddle is just as, their goals are different. Their lives are different. He has _you_, the son of Circe's gift…"

Harry blinked. "Pardon me?"

She didn't answer him, merely shaking her head. "I'm afraid I've overstayed my "walk". _Remember_, alright? And don't be afraid to seek me out if you ever need me. You'll see me again."

Luna left, just like that. Harry was left spinning from the visit, baffled and filled with a confusion that the onslaught of knowledge had brought. What had she been implying? What were the Master's goals? What part did he play in this? Tom? And why… why was Tom the target, instead of, say, multiple people, lesser in power but still strong in their own rights?

But Harry found he didn't like these thoughts. Later… he would think more on them later and perhaps discuss it with Tom, but he had a feeling the Magus had a good idea of what kind of dangers they were going to meet.

He turned once more to the sleeping Magus who had not stirred once during his meeting with Luna. A cool night's breeze blew in from the cave entrance, and Harry shivered slightly as the new temperature brushed against his bare skin. True, the cold did not bother him much, but the thought that he could be much warmer still, closer to the taste he had experienced just a few hours ago…

Without really thinking, he laid back down, drawing the heavy cloaks that acted as blankets over them once more. This time, _he_ was the one seeking Tom's warmth, and the buzz of magic he felt through the bond was enough to coax him into closing his eyes and settling down into a comfortable position snuggled up next to his companion. Harry slept, this time left unbothered by the outside forces.

* * *

**Word Count:** 1699

**Word Prompt: **Surprise


	34. Entry XXXIV: Clean

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note****: **Extremely late update. We had this coming. Seriously. And now we get more questions, like what's up with Tom, is Harry finally free of all doubt like he should be, can shit stop happening so they can make time for more surprise!sex... you get the point.

* * *

**M**orning came with the feeling of an empty sort of warmth. Harry did not stretch or yawn as he woke, his eyes merely fluttered open to watch a small fire dance before him, his life partner sitting across.

"You're awake already. Why didn't you wake me up?" Harry murmured, watching as Tom looked up from the cooking fish. _And dressed._

"Yes, well, I've decided it's best if we don't go on today," Tom replied dryly. "Thought you might appreciate it."

Sitting up and feeling the soreness of his lower body made the Fighter wince in agreement. "Thanks," was all he said. The cloak that had covered his naked body slipped down to pool at his waist, and Harry sat there waiting as his senses flooded him with the world again. The sound of a nearby water source, the crackle of the fire, the clear view of the inner cave that the light of the sun had shown…

"There's a pool deeper in," Tom said quietly. "You can wash up there. Then, we should talk."

Harry found himself agreeing. They _did_ need to talk. Being bonded with one from the Forest in general… meant things. "Alright," he said, slowly standing up and stretching his arms. His nudity did not bother him—Tom had already seen everything there was to see (with great degrees of zeal) last night. There was nothing he could hide, and if his Magus wanted to look, well, why not let him?

With that thought in mind he walked off in the direction that was pointed to, deeper and lower into the cave until he reached the water source his senses were also telling him existed. The crash of a small waterfall echoed off of the walls, but Harry didn't mind the sound. His sleep filled, pleasure hazed mind appreciated the wake up call—though the cold water was dealing with that already.

Harry shuddered, finding his quick dip in the pool had been far too hasty for his liking. What should he have expected? Of course the water was freezing! And so he sat there, neck deep in water, motionless in an attempt to adjust to his surroundings' temperature. Eventually it grew bearable, though that did not stop a shiver from running down his spine, and then he got to work on getting… well, clean.

Considering what went on last night to what he felt this morning, he hadn't woken up sticky, so that must've meant Tom had done something with his magic to deal with that. _Still_, that didn't mean he was squeaky clean—and with that thought Harry began to scrub at his skin with a renewed vigor the cold water had originally snubbed.

It had been rushed. He knew it was—the sex, he meant. But that was one of the consequences a ritual-free bonding could cause, and Harry was just glad it wasn't something more… flashy. He knew the nature of their bonding would stop anything dangerous from happening, but it had been hard to expect _this_ when he had been still leeching off of the adrenaline gained from their fight. It had been stupid to be caught so off guard like that, and even stupider to give in so easily without finding out what _Tom_ had really wanted—

But what was done was done, and Harry wasn't very inclined to any guilt or whatever nonsense someone might feel. Sex was sex, pleasure was pleasure. If, perhaps, what had happened meant something else, _then_ he could start with the doubting and the headache-inducing mind circles, but it wasn't. It was all magic.

And Harry didn't exactly know how he felt about that.

But that, he supposed, was fine too. Like he had told Luna, he wasn't _in love_ with Tom—or at least not yet, because with how things were looking he'd be head over heels soon enough—but he did care for the man a great deal and, in indulging his desires at the same time as folding to the will of Tom's magic, what real harm was there in that? None. And so he should stop thinking about it, stop thinking about the way it felt when he had ran his fingers down his—

Stop.

It seemed even the cold water could not stop his thoughts, so Harry swam over to the small waterfall and ducked right under it. The freezing temperature instantly made itself known again, and he only stayed under for a second more until pulling away from the falls and crossing his arms, shivering. Harry returned to the edge of the pool, sitting down again as he placed his chin onto the top of his knees that peaked out from atop the water.

He wondered what he could say to his Magus, what he would have to say, what would be asked. If Harry were to be honest, he was _scared,_ scared that things would get awkward in his explanation and of parting with his closely held secrets.

Not to mention, of course, the fact that Tom hadn't even known he was a Fighter to begin with… right?

And a Bestia-type in fact!

Because certainly, if the Magus knew he was a Fighter, Harry probably would've been ditched on the side of the road by now—after all, Tom didn't like Fighters. He didn't want one. He probably thought Harry was just like the rest, just as weak, just as pitiful, just as _useless—_

Footsteps sounded from behind him, but Harry was not necessarily worried about them despite his surprise and halt in thoughts. The feel of Tom's magic engulfed him, wrapping about his body and then spreading through the pool. He could see the temperature change—steam began to rise from the waters—and Harry sighed in delight at the warmth.

"Perhaps I should've warned you about the cold," Tom murmured as he sat down on the ground behind Harry.

"I won't get sick," replied the Fighter as his eyes closed. "And I was just surprised—the cold doesn't affect me as much as it does to you."

"Is there a reason for that?"

Harry hummed. "Resistances from my animal forms, just like my senses came from them."

The Magus apparently was fine leaving it at that, perhaps waiting for him to finish his bath before diving in to a more interrogative discussion. Harry certainly didn't mind, what with the swirling comfort of his Magus' magic filling the room, he felt like he didn't have a care in the world. His muscles eased, the tension in his body that was half because of the icy waters and half because of his thoughts completely fading away.

Then hands were at his shoulders, and Harry wasn't quite sure what brought on the massage he was getting, but by the gods he was _not_ going to question it. Tom's hands felt wonderful upon his flesh, the feel of the physical massage mingling with his seemingly very easy to excite magic. It hung in the air too, a heavy, dominant presence and a reminder of their bond. He wondered what it would be like when they were _off_ the mountain, and there would be no block to try and hinder a very important aspect of his Magus.

He had found out last night that Tom was the most expressive through his magic, after all.

It almost felt like a whole other being, playful and teasing and so much like a child sometimes—the contradiction between its wielder and itself made Harry want to sit for days going through the complex layers that no doubt permeated the physical manifestations, or even the _aura_, because he just _knew_ his instincts would've screamed "danger!" and "power!" had it not been sighing "comfort," and "safety," with the creation of their bond.

If only for just now, everything seemed to fall into place spectacularly. Harry undoubtedly wanted to keep it that way.

He made a sound in the back of his throat when Tom's hands left him, suspiciously sounding like a whine but nothing near as squeaky or with anything close to enough effort. Harry doubted he could even muster such a sound right now—the warm waters combined with his Magus' magic was like a drug, filling him up and moving through his body until he knew no more.

"Don't fall to sleep," Tom chided, his hand coming around Harry's face to lift his nodding chin out of the water.

"Hmm…" Harry murmured. His eyes opened, meeting the gaze of his companion. "You're spoiling me."

"Only to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

"Oh? And why would I do that?"

Tom snorted, but he did not elaborate. Instead, he said a muttered, "exactly," and retracted his hand.

However, Harry wasn't quite done just yet. "Does this mean I get to spoil _you_?" he drawled, twisting his body so his arms could lie on the dry ground and act as a rest for his head.

"That depends," he paused, "but I'm quite certain there are things you can do that I won't say no to."

This made Harry laugh. "Oh, so it's up to me to figure it out, mmm?"

"I won't say no to any attempts, either."

"Come into the waters with me?" the Fighter asked abruptly, lifting his head to allow his arm to reach up towards his bonded.

Tom smiled, sort of amused, sort of wistful, and the sort that made Harry know his offer would be rejected. "I've already taken a bath." _I'd rather not risk it_.

It made him frown, dropping his arm to fall away as he sighed. "Fine," Harry muttered. "I'll be out soon."

The Magus hummed his agreement, the sound that came from his throat trying to comfort, and a hand came out to smooth over his cheek in a sort of silent apology that did, in fact, work. Tom left, and Harry sunk into the waters once more before actively trying to get clean again.

He _did_ say he'd be out soon, and he wouldn't make that a lie, either. Plus—though Harry knew logically he was being foolish—the water didn't seem as _warm_ as it did when his bonded was here, even though Tom hadn't been in the pool with him and had generously let his magic keep it warm until Harry finished.

If he wasn't careful, it felt like he would fall in love sooner than he had thought. Harry didn't dare; he would give Tom more time than _that_.

He left the pool, refusing to put any more weight on his thoughts before he knew what Tom wanted. There would be things to decide… later. Harry slipped on the clothes that his partner had so generously left out for him, and wandered back towards the entrance, following the call of magic more than retracing his steps.

Tom beckoned him to sit beside him, and Harry took that as a good sign. He took the proffered seat, wincing slightly at the dull ache—no doubt his Magus had done something about _that_ in the bath; he could've sworn it had hurt more!—before settling.

Tom pulled him closer, allowing his Fighter to rest his head upon his shoulder. It was an uncharacteristic display of intimate kindness, and Harry, who hadn't seen it coming, grunted in discomfort before allowing his position to adjust. He wondered what had made Tom begin to act… so out of character.

The Magus flicked his wrist as he motioned to the cooked fish, simultaneously drying Harry and signaling that the food was ready.

They both decided to eat before they commenced further discussions.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a Fighter?" The question was asked not for the answer, but to at least have a start _somewhere_.

"Bestia-types are rare," muttered Harry. "I was taught at a young age to keep it a secret, especially to outsiders… and when I got to know you, you didn't seem all too fond of Fighters, so—"

Tom hummed. He knew that his staunch position had probably been the cause of a great deal. "I'm not against it… the fact that you're my Fighter now."

Harry relaxed, if only slightly. That made things a bit easier. "Tom, there are things you should know… but… I don't know what to tell you first," he confessed.

"Tell me about _you_," came the simple answer.

He could work with that. "Ever since I discovered my first form, I've felt in my blood that I could become anything that I wanted to be—"

So began the story. Harry talked and talked, told Tom all about his beginnings and upbringing, though never gave a name to his parents. _That_, he kept to himself, and the Magus seemed to understand. What _was_ told was his childhood as an orphan, when he faced loneliness as an outcast of the tribe, even though he had been "born" there. It had been his parents—foreigners, even though they had been welcomed with open arms by the tribe's elders.

And Harry talked about how he developed his skills, how at first he had wondered what the point was if he was going to be forever rejected by the people he had literally grown up with, from birth to first hunt. He talked about how he trained and fine-tuned his Bestia-type abilities on his own, using the Forest as a guide and, when possible, the old tomes that the elders had allowed him to read out of pity. In those books, he consumed the moving pictures of majestic, otherworldly creatures that he had never seen—foreign to the forest and the people within.

He went further, deeper, delved into his past in an attempt to connect with his Magus. Tom listened to Harry describe his fortunes and misfortunes in the Territory, the customs and rituals of his tribe and those universal to the warriors in the Forest. He heard about how his Fighter had transformed from someone who had little to no motivation at all to interact with the people who had raised him to someone who would fight, _win_, and die for his tribe.

Oh, and the tales he heard! The stories, the truths, the memories that were revealed that day! How was it possible, to defeat a Bestia-type's greatest crutch—his animal form? That was told too, how Harry had trained and trained to surpass even the greatest in the Forest, all in his human form, all to cement (for his own knowledge and peace of mind) his strength as both a human and a beast, that this strength could be used however he wanted… that he had _control_.

And then, Tom was told, in a subdued and quiet tone of voice, how the enigmatic, mystical, isolated Forest saw the bond between a Fighter and a Magus—with reverence, respect, a spiritual flavoring to their almost worship of a "fate" and "destiny" tied to another, so close that legend said the ancients had compared it to sharing a soul in two separate bodies.

It wasn't just belief for one's morals or aims, no it was all very true, very real—Harry described with awe coloring his speech the _emotion_ that he had felt at that one, critical moment the day before, when everything had changed and decisions had been made and they had tasted victory… together, side by side.

And when all was said and done, when Harry finished struggling to convey what he wanted to, finished pouring his heart to the person who was most likely to capture it and treat it like his own, he quieted. Suddenly, he found, fatigue had settled in—emotionally, that is.

Tom, who had stayed so quiet, so thoughtful, so analytical through the memories, began to speak. He told his own story, in his own way, using words and descriptions that did no justice to his past but, with the help of this sudden air of _want_ towards understanding each other, was able to convey at least the barest of the surface.

And then when the air was clean between them, when all thought—perhaps succumbing to the tiredness, perhaps not—ceased, only then were they able to ease in completely to the reality of truth, the fact that they were inexplicably entwined in the labyrinthine web of the world. A long time ago, before they had traveled together, before they had met, before Tom had accepted the quest, before Harry had walked the path of a warrior for himself and only himself, maybe they had not been ensnared in each other.

Maybe they had been on the road to another person, another Fighter, another Magus, _another_ companion, but somewhere along the way they had both taken the other dirt beaten trail on the fork in the road and made a few turns here, a few twists there, and a few completely off-the-path journeys _in addition to that_…

Everything finished here. Now. The mutual acceptance of truth, reality, fact, authenticity, by whatever name anyone pleased, was unspoken. They were partners now, after all.

Partners knew each other like the back of their own hands.

* * *

**Word Count:** 2852

**Word Prompt: **Clean


	35. Entry XXXV: Unease

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

**T**heir small, though no less important, day spent talking and becoming accustomed to what the bond between them may or may not let them feel, may or may not let them know, or may or may not influence them with easily affected their daily interaction. If anything, the bonded pair was _closer_, more comfortable with constant touch, more trusting.

They would have to be, and it helped that it wouldn't take more effort.

Regardless, their trek up Half Moon Mountain continued, and, as they grew closer to the summit, Tom came to realize a very uncomfortable fact.

The barrier was getting stronger.

Though surprising, it wasn't exactly out of the range of possibilities… and the thought and knowledge that Tom's magic would be suppressed again easily brought a grimace to his face. He also knew that Harry was particularly fond of his magic, not dependent on it but the bond did strange things to one's mindset.

The purpose of a Magus-Fighter bond, after all, had always been survival at the core.

More than that though, Tom just didn't want to feel useless again—defenseless. What if they were targeted again? No more assaults came, but who knew? What if they were camping right at the top, lying in wait for them to fight the Roc, and when they were weakened—

The thought of Harry, lying in a pool of blood, suffering because he was trying to desperately _protect_ Tom's defenseless form was a terrible, terrible future and the Magus could not bear it if that became a reality. Even now, the mere view of it in his mind's eye caused him to grind his teeth together and grow tense.

"Is something wrong, Tom?" Harry, he found, not only had a natural instinct in knowing when something was bothering him, but also had the senses to confirm those instincts. His physical discomfort most likely had made itself known to the Fighter, and it didn't help that his magic grew erratic. At the very least he knew that even if it was suppressed, the bond would still allow him to filter it to Harry.

"Just the barrier," Tom muttered.

Harry shot him an understanding look. "It's getting worse, isn't it," he said quietly. "Will you be… okay? Does it hurt?"

"No," replied the Magus. He didn't need to say that it was a loathing to be so restricted again, his companion already knew.

The Fighter hummed, moving closer until their shoulders bumped. "It'll be alright."

Tom stopped and looked up at the angry clouds that had already moved in. Questioningly he glanced at Harry, a wordless inquiry as to what would come.

"Yeah," the Fighter sighed, "it's going to rain. A bit farther up's a shelter that I was going to say we should stop at—I saw it when I went hunting this morning."

"How badly?"

This time, Harry was the one who glanced up. "It has potential. The clouds are heavy, but up there the winds are pushing rather hard, so who knows. It might only be a light shower we're getting until they're blown away."

As it turns out, they weren't lucky enough for a quick drizzle. Sitting under the shelter, which was a rock formation that extended out to make a large niche that they sat in, it was easy to hear how hard the rain came down. Tom watched it with a certain unease, finding future hardships in the rough downpour. He vaguely heard Harry sigh, and the next thing he knew, a large cougar had wound its way around him to curl up and act as a rest he could recline on.

The Magus buried his fingers of one hand in the soft fur, finding the silky texture comforting and the answering purr reassuring. He idly scratched his Fighter behind the ears, enjoying, if only for the slightest of moments, how easy it was to please Harry.

And that was when his thoughts came to a halt.

"Harry?"

Inquisitive, intelligent cat eyes looked up at him questioningly.

"Do I…"Tom paused uncomfortably, "do you feel like I treat you… like trash…?"

Comprehension, and perhaps a bit of anger stared up at the Magus, the memory of Bellatrix and Rodolphus clear in Harry's mind. A growl dissuaded any other ridiculous thoughts, and for good measure, Harry butt his head against Tom's hand and curled closer, nuzzling his companion in a display of intimate affection.

The Magus snorted. "Right. You're just a masochist—I forgot."

The cougar growled again, harsher this time.

"I know," Tom assured quietly. "The rain simply makes me feel… far too melancholic for my liking." As if to agree, Harry laid back down, head resting on his paws as he shut his eyes to the rain and the outside world. His concentration lied solely on the hand that still scratched behind his ears.

* * *

**Word Count:** 808

**Word Prompt: **Unease


	36. Entry XXXVI: Protect

**Summary: **Tom Riddle, one of the century's most powerful Magus prodigies, claims he doesn't need a Fighter. And he doesn't; Bestia-type Fighter Harry Potter just happens to be a convenience when he picks him up. Drabble Series!

**Warnings: **Slash, AU, fighting (possible blood mention)

**Pairings: **TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle / Harry Potter), EVENTUALLY: [[past LE/JP (Lily Evans / James Potter), past LE/SS (Lily Evans / Severus Snape), -maybe- SB/RL (Sirius Black / Remus Lupin)]]

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Note: **Beta'd by Chrono Mephistopheles. Next chapter will be a bit more exciting.

* * *

By now, their trek up the mountain had certainly made progress, but the resulting consequence was, once again, the blockade upon Tom's magic. Harry once again returned to full-time hunting duty, taking care of their breakfast, lunch, and dinner protein and pointing out possible nuts and berries that his Magus could scavenge.

It was close to their old arrangement, only now Tom had gotten a taste of what it was like to be back to normal again, and to have that so quickly ripped out from under him…

Harry sympathized. He really did. The frustrated look he sometimes caught upon his Magus' face as he stared as his palm, the cold eyes that would occasionally glare into the fire… he understood that. He got that, the feeling of helplessness, of knowing that you could be stronger than you were now, but you simply weren't… as a Bestia-type, he had been forced to go through those times too, when he couldn't get the transformation down quick enough or one form of himself being weaker than another, especially the issue between his animal and human forms…

He had been there. So he got it. But that was a trivial detail because he could sense Tom's displeasure and he was unable to do anything to remedy it, only provide the comfort of a friend and companion.

Idly, Harry wondered if it would be different if he could give that of a lover's, but then he pushed the thought away. He shouldn't be thinking of such things—not in the situation they were in, because now it was a practical confirmation that he would be fighting the Roc solo.

Not that he was bitter about that or anything! And he wasn't completely alone. Tom would simply be at a disadvantage and—and—

Harry admitted that the barrier was affecting him, too, indirectly as it seemed. The small, fleeting time he had to accustom himself with Tom's magic had been sweet, and he wished for the feel of it again, because right now, Tom did not feel whole to him anymore. He did not feel complete without his magic.

Thankfully, through their bond, there was still some marginal magical contact. This time around, Tom was only sealed from physical manifestations, not a complete cut off.

But still…

He shook his head. No time to get distracted now—fetching dinner was an important task. He didn't want to go too far because he missed his prey. The sound of scampering feet met his ears, and Harry briefly shut his eyes to concentrate on the light, beating sound before shifting forms instantaneously.

Tonight they would have rabbit.

A large, grey owl sliced the night sky, spiraling down somewhere into the foliage of a group of trees. It was silent, until the frantic rustle of bushes sounded, and a slow, lusty growl followed the vision of a large hare darting out into a clearing. There was nowhere else to run.

The prey lay flat on the ground, having accepted its fate of becoming a meal for the predator. Mercilessly, a large cat pounced from the bushes, snatching it up in its jaws. Harry snapped the neck before carrying it back to the camp, running on all fours as the night provided perfect coverage for his lithe body. He disappeared into the shadows, and the relative calm of the clearing returned. He would only take what he needed, and no more.

Tom glanced up as he felt his Fighter approaching the cave they were currently staying at. It wasn't all too much of a cave either, rather a large niche in the mountain that they could both fit into, as well as build a fire in to sleep by. He instinctively watched the entrance for Harry's form, expecting a human to walk in as he always did, and was surprised when he met the eyes of a panther instead.

It slinked forward on all fours, head down as it carried the brown rabbit in its jaws. Very slowly, it placed down its prey by the fire, and the creaking of muscles as well as the expected blur happened in the blink of an eye. A human sat in its place.

"Rabbit alright for you?" Harry asked conversationally.

Tom shrugged. "Rather that than nothing."

He hummed and took out a small knife, beginning the prep work, a basin of water by him that had been fetched earlier.

"…Are you worried?" the Magus asked at some point during their meal. It was so sudden that Harry didn't comprehend the question until a few seconds later.

"Huh? Worried about what?"

"The roc."

He blinked. "Oh! Well… it'll be fine. 'Sides, I'm strong. Nothing to worry about, really."

"Then what's gotten you on the edge?"

Harry's forehead crinkled. Had he been overly cautious recently?

Seeing his expression, Tom sighed. "You're not as… calm as you usually are," he said slowly.

"…That's true, I guess. Then again, we haven't been attacked for awhile. Either they've given up or they're bidding their time. Can never be too careful."

"Don't think I don't know you go out scouting every night besides hunting," Tom accused quietly. "It's more than that."

"It's not," Harry replied. "That last attack wasn't a joke… those two were strong."

"So were we."

"Not strong enough," the Fighter argued. "I… you shouldn't have… imagine what it would've been like if they had fought with those assassins! We probably wouldn't have won. Not then."

But Tom heard what had been unsaid. I should've been able to protect you better. He felt disgusted—to be indirectly called weak, or at least helpless, was not something acceptable. And it was even more unacceptable because it had been true. At that time, he had been helpless. He had forced Harry into that desperate, wild, hopeless situation. He wished he could say he didn't need that protection, but Tom would be lying if he did. Because now, without his magic again…

Harry sighed, sensing his Magus' discomfort. He shifted into his cougar form; meal done and feeling slightly better if he was in this form when cuddling up against Tom. It wasn't that he didn't want to offer comfort as a human, but he doubted his Magus would appreciate it, so he crawled right up to him as a large, wild cat and eased into a curl as Tom's fingers found their way to his ears.

It'll be fine, he wanted to say again. I'll always be with you. There won't be anything to fear. Together, we'll be unstoppable. We'll protect each other, fight side by side whether it's in mind or body, as equals always should. But his current form stopped him from saying those words, those dangerous, dangerous words, and so he made no sound at all. Now wasn't the time.

Later that night, when Tom had finally fallen asleep, using his anxious—though slightly amused at the situation—Fighter as a pillow, Harry turned to look out into the night as the fire began to fizzle out. He knew Tom wasn't used to being weak. He had always been the best amongst the most powerful—the one who stood atop the highest mountain that the rest could never think to reach or even see.

And because he knew this, Harry steadfastly held onto his drive, his motivation. It didn't matter if he was a means to an end (though certainly by now he probably meant a little bit more than that) or an accident that happened to work out right. He held onto the thought that this partnership had a destiny, had a fate, had a reason to be in existence, and if it didn't, then at the very least that he sure as hell had made one by now.

Use me any way you like, he thought privately to himself, I'll be your sword, your shield, your wand, your staff, your core, your greatest strength and your greatest weakness—your everything. I'll be the treasure you must protect, the most dangerous trap that guards you. I'll turn back time and go through it all again, if you just… if you just…

He didn't know if he was talking to the Fates, or to Tom, and then he wondered when he became this devoted, this loyal, this truthful and this fearless. What had happened? In the end, did it matter?

He thought of Luna, and the oddities of the universe. He thought of life, and death, and the silly wishes he made on the stars that peaked through the treetops of the Forest at night when he was a child. And, when he finally lulled into a dozing, drowsy state, Harry wondered what Tom thought of, and if their thoughts ever melded into one.

* * *

**Word Count:** 1459

**Word Prompt: **Protect


End file.
